


Let's try that Again (Twilight Rewrite)

by CaptainsRenegade



Series: Twilight Overhaul [1]
Category: Life and Death - Stephenie Meyer, Twilight (Movies), Twilight Series - All Media Types, Twilight Series - Stephenie Meyer
Genre: Canon Rewrite, F/F, F/M, Genderbent Emmett, I took from both Life and Death and the Original Twilight Series, Life and Death influenced, Rewrite, Twilight Rennisance, Twilight Rewrite, Twilight Series Rewrite, Twilight in 2020 gang rise up, also if you hate twilight do not interact just let people enjoy things, biggest change is emmett is eleanor, i will add more tags as i go i am just bad at this, twilight fans unite, twilight gang in general rise up
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-02
Updated: 2020-04-30
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:39:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 29,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23444110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainsRenegade/pseuds/CaptainsRenegade
Summary: This is a Twilight Canon Rewrite; the core of it is very similar to the OG and Life and Death.  As 'cliche or cringy as you think it is Twilight is still a f**kin bomb series and I just wanted to fix all of the things that I have criticisms of throughout the series. I have taken note of a LOT of 'Twilight Renaissance' posts, and will try to credit those original suggesters as best as possible - please let me know if I miss anyone, OR if you have any thoughts or criticisms of the series that I should consider.
Relationships: Alice Cullen/Jasper Hale, Edward Cullen/Bella Swan, Emmett Cullen/Rosalie Hale, elenor cullen/rosalie hale
Series: Twilight Overhaul [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1686562
Comments: 9
Kudos: 20





	1. 1. First Sight

**Prologue**

I’d never given much thought to how i would die; even though I'd had more than enough reason to in these last few months. But even when I had, I would not have imagined it like this.

Where I stared into the dark eyes of a hunter, poised across a long room, and he smiled back.

But it was a good way to die,  in lieu of someone else, someone that I loved. Noble. Peaceful, even. That ought to help for something.

If I have never left Phoenix, then I wouldn’t be facing down my death in Phoenix right now. The irony wasn’t lost on me, and, yet, as terrified as I was, I couldn’t bring myself to regret Forks.  If life offered you a dream, something beyond anything you ever could have imagined, do you think it would be fair to grieve when it finally came to an end?

The hunter continued to smile, in that friendly way, as he sauntered forward to kill me.

  1. **First Sight**




My mother drove me to the airport with the windows rolled down. It was eighty-six degrees in Phoenix, the sky a perfect, cloudless blue. My favourite shirt rippled in the wind - a sleeveless, white eyelet lace - a farewell gesture to the warmth of my home. (My Carry-on item was a parka.)

In the Olympic Peninsula of Northwest Washington, a small town named Forks exists, under a near-constant cover of clouds. It rains on this inconsequential town more than any other place in the United States of America.  It was from this town and its gloomy, omnipresent shades of grey and green that my mother had fled from when i was only a few months old. It was in this town that I’d been required to spend a month every summer until I was fourteen.  That was the year I had finally put my foot down about the rainy summers; the past three summers, Charlie, had spent a month with me in California instead.

It was to Forks that I now exiled myself - an action that I partook with great horror. I detested Forks.

I loved Phoenix. I loved the sun, the blistering heat. I loved the vigorous, sprawling city.

“Bella,” my mom said to me - as she had a thousand times - before I got on the plane. “You don’t have to do this.”

My mom looks like me, except with short hair and laugh lines. She always said that we looked so alike that people would ask her if that was a photo of her teenage self in her wallet. I didn’t see it.  Her chin was pointy and her lips were full, which I didn’t have (I had my fathers ever so square chin) but we did have exactly the same eyes. On her, they’re so childlike - so wide and pale hazel - which makes her look like my sister rather than my mom. On me, the hazel is less youthful and more… unresolved.

I felt a spasm of panic as I stared at her wide, childlike eyes. How could I leave my loving, erratic, harebrained mother to fend for herself?  Of course, she had Phil now, so that bills would get paid, there would be food in the fridge, gas in her car, someone to call when she got lost, but still…

My chest spiked with a feeling I couldn’t describe - what’s the reverse of dependency?

“I want to go,” I lied. I’d always been a good liar, and I had been saying it so frequently lately that it sounded almost convincing now.

“Tell Charlie I said hi.”

“I will.”

“I’ll see you soon,” She insisted. “You can come home whenever you want - I’ll come right back as soon as you need me.” I could see the sacrifice behind her eyes, underlying that promise.

“Don’t worry about me,” I urged. “It’ll be great. I love you, Mom.”

She held me tight for a minute and kissed me on my cheek, and then I got on the plane and she was gone.

It’s a four-hour flight from Phoenix to Seattle, another hour in a small plane to Port Angeles, and then an hour drive back down to Forks. Flying doesn’t bother me; the hour in the car with Charlie, though, I was a little worried about.

Charlie had been really nice about the whole thing. He seemed genuinely  pleased that I was coming to live with him for the first time with any degree of permanence. He’d already registered e for high school and was going to help with a car.

But it was sure to be awkward with Charlie.  Neither of us was what anyone would call verbose, and our contact had been so limited for 17 years that I didn’t know what to say regardless.  I knew he was more than a little confused by my decision - like my mother before me, I hadn’t made a secret of my distaste for Forks.

When I landed in Port Angeles, it was raining. I didn’t see it as an omen -  just unavoidable. Okay,  maybe a little bit of an omen. But I had already said my goodbyes with the sun.

Charlie was waiting for me with his cruiser. This, I had been expecting, too. Charlie was Police Chief Swan to the good people of Forks.  My primary motivations behind finding a car, despite the scarcity of my funds, was that I refused to be driven to the store in a car with red and blue lights on top. Nothing slows down traffic like a cop.

Charlie gave me an awkward, one-armed hug when I stumbled my way off the plane.

“It’s good to see you, Bells,” he said, smiling as he automatically caught and steadied me. “You haven’t changed much. How’s Renee?”

“Mom’s fine. It’s good to see you, too, Dad.” I wasn’t allowed to call him Charlie to his face.

I only had a few bags. Most of my Arizona clothes were too permeable for Washington. My mom and I have pooled our resources to supplement my winter wardrobe, but it was still scanty. It all fit easily into the trunk of the cruiser.

“I found a good car for you,  really cheap,” he announced, as we pulled away from the curb.

“What kind of car?” I was suspicious of the way he said ‘good car for you’ as opposed to just a ‘good car’.

“Well, it’s a truck actually. A chevy.”

“Where did you find it?”

“Do you remember Billy Black down at La Push?” La Push is the tiny Native American reservation on the coast.

“He used to go fishing with us during the summer, yeah?”

“That’s him.  He’s in a wheelchair now,” a pained look flickered over his face, “So he can’t drive anymore, and he offered to sell me his truck cheap .”

“What year is it?” I could see from his expression that that was the question he was hoping I wouldn’t ask.

“Well, Billy’s done a lot of work on the engine - it’s only a few years old,  really .”

“When did he buy it?”

“He bought it in 1984?  I think .”

“Did he buy it new?”

“Well, no.  I think  it was new in the early sixties - or late fifties at the earliest.” He admitted sheepishly.

“Ch - Dad, I don’t really know anything about cars. I wouldn’t be able to fix it if anything went wrong, and I couldn’t afford a mechanic…”

“ Really , Bells, the thing runs great. They don’t build them like that anymore.”

The thing, I thought to myself… it had possibilities - as a nickname, at the very least.

“How cheap is cheap?” After all, that was the only part that I couldn’t compromise on.

“Well, honey… I kind of already bought it for you. As a homecoming gift.” Charlie peeked sideways at me, with a hopeful expression.

That stunned me to near silence for a moment. Free. He had brought it. For me.

“You didn’t need to do that, Dad. I was going to buy myself a car.”

“I don’t mind. I want you to be happy here.” He was looking ahead at the road whilst he said this. He wasn’t comfortable with expressing his emotions out loud. I inherited it from him, so I fixed my gaze straight ahead too. Some part of me wondered at that moment if our mutual stoicism had something to do with my mum.

“Thanks, Dad, I  really  appreciate it, that's  really  nice of you.” Not that being happy in Forks was going to be easy, or even possible for that matter. But you can never look a free truck in the mouth - or engine.

“Well, now, you’re welcome,” He mumbled, more than embarrassed by my thanks.

We exchanged a few comments on the weather, which was wet, and that was pretty much it for the conversation.  We started out the windows in silence, and as much as I was dreading Forks, I appreciated what that moment indicated.

Forks was beautiful, of course; I couldn’t deny it.  Everything was green; the trees: their trunks slick with moss, their branches hanging with a canopy of it. The ground, covered in ferns. Even the air filtered down greenly  through the leaves, tasted green on your tongue. It was too green - like an alien planet.

Eventually, we made it to Charlie’s, He still lived in the tiny, two-bedroom house he had brought with my mother in the early days of their marriage. Those were the kind of days their marriage ever had - early ones. There, parked on the street in front of the house that had never changed a day in my memory, was my new - well, new to me - truck.

It was a faded red colour, with big, round fenders and a bulbous cab, and those big old-fashioned headlights. I loved it. I didn’t know if it would even run, but I loved it. I could see myself in it.  Bonus, it was one of those solid iron affairs that never gets damaged - the kind you see at the scene of an accident, the paint unscathed, surrounded by the pieces of some shiny new chair it had destroyed.

“I love it, Dad! Thanks!” Now,  hopefully, my horrific first day tomorrow would be just that much less dreadful. I wouldn’t be faced with the choice of walking two miles in the rain to school or accepting a ride in the Chief’s cruiser.

“I’m glad you like it,” Charlie said gruffly, embarrassed again.

I only took one trip to get my stuff upstairs. I got the west bedroom that faced out over the front yard. The room was familiar; it had been mine since I was born.  The wooden floors, the light blue-green walls, the peaked ceiling, the yellow lace curtains - all parts of my childhood.

The only changes Charlie had ever made were switching the crib for a bed and adding a desk as I grew. That desk now held a second-hand computer, with a phone line for the modem stapled along the floor. That was a stipulation from my mother so that we could stay in touch easily.

The rocking chair from my baby days was still in the corner.

One of the best things about Charlie is that he doesn’t hover. He left me alone to unpack and get settled, a feat that would have been completely impossible for my mother.  It was nice to be alone, not to have to smile and look pleased; a relief to stare dejectedly out the window at the sheeting rain, and think about the coming morning -

Forks High Schools had a frightening total of only three hundred and fifty-seven (now fifty-eight) students. There were more than seven hundred people in my junior class alone back home.  All of the kids here had grown up together - their grandparents had been toddlers together. I would be the new girl from the big city, a curiosity, a freak.

Maybe, if I had looked like a girl from Phoenix should, I could work this to my advantage. But physically  I’d never really fit in with that.  I should be tan, sporty, blond - a volleyball player, or a cheerleader,  perhaps  \- all the things that come with living in the valley of the sun.

Instead, I was ivory-skinned, lacking the excuses of the blue eyes and red hair, despite the constant sunshine. I could rival a vampire with the lack of colour to my skin. I had always been slender, but soft somehow,  obviously not an athlete.  I also definitely did not I have the hand-eye coordination to play sports to any capacity without humiliating myself - and harming both myself and anyone who stood in my way.

When I finished putting my clothes in the old pine dresser, I took my bag of bathroom necessities and went to the communal bathroom to clean myself up after the day of travel. I looked at myself in the mirror, as I dragged a brush through my damp hair.  Maybe it was the light, but already I look sallower, paler.  My skin could be pretty - it was always clear and blemish-free (  thankfully  ), but it seemed to have entirely washed free of colour already.

Facing my pallid reflection in the mirror, I  was forced to admit that I was lying to myself. It wasn’t just that I would physically never fit in. If I couldn’t find a niche in a school of three thousand people, what were my chances here?

Unlike most of the girls back home, I didn’t have time for sports or hobbies of any kind. I had chequebooks to balance, a clogged drain to snake, and a week’s groceries to shop for.

Or used to.

So, I didn’t relate well to people my age.  Maybe the truth was I didn’t relate well to people, period.  Even my mother, who i was closer to than anyone else on the planet, was never in harmony with me, never exactly on the same page.  Sometimes I wondered if I was seeing the same things through my eyes that everyone else was seeing through theirs.  Maybe there was a glitch in my brain. It's like no matter how hard people tried, no one could ever look in. No one could peer into my brain and make sense of how it worked, and my brain definitely couldn't make sense of them. But the cause didn’t matter. All that mattered was the effect. And tomorrow would just be the beginning.

I didn’t sleep well that night, even after I  was done crying. The constant whooshing of the rain and wind across the roof just wouldn’t fade into the background. I pulled the faded old quilt covered over my head and later added a pillow, too.  But I couldn’t fall asleep until after midnight when the rain finally settled into something quieter.

Thick fog was all I could see through my window in the morning, and I could feel the claustrophobia creeping up on me. You could never see the sky here; the clouds formed a cage.

Breakfast with Charlie was a quiet affair. He wished me good luck at school. I thanked him, knowing that his hope was wasted. Good luck tended to avoid me. Charlie left first, off to the police station that was his wife and family.  After he left, I sat at the old square table in one of the three unmatching chairs and examined the kitchen, with its dark walls, bright yellows and white floor.

Nothing had seemed to change. My mother had painted the cabinets 18 years ago in some attempt to bring sunshine into the house. Over the small fireplace in the handkerchief-sized family room was a row of pictures:

The first, a wedding picture of Charlie and my mom in Las Vegas, then one of the three of us in the hospital when I was born, taken by a helpful nurse, followed by the procession of my school pictures up to last year.

Those ones were a little more embarrassing to look at -  maybe there was somewhere else I could hide them, at least whilst other people were around.

It was impossible, being in the house, not to realise that Charlie had never gotten over my mom, had never even tried to.

It made me uncomfortable.

I didn’t want to be too early for school, but I couldn't stay in the house anymore. I donned a jacket - in my head, I pictured it as a biohazard suit - and headed out into the rain.

It was just drizzling still, not enough to soak me through immediately as I reached for the house key, hidden under the eaves by the door, and locked up. The sloshing of my new waterproof boots unnerved me - I missed the normal crunch of the gravel under my feet.  I couldn’t pause and admire my truck, as much as I wanted; I was in a desperate hurry to get out of the misty wet that swirled around my head and clung to my hair, even under the hood.

Inside the truck, it was nice and dry.  Charlie, or maybe  Billy had obviously cleaned it up, but the tan upholstered seats still smelled faintly of tobacco and peppermint and some kind of car oil (engine  ? I had no clue). The engine started quickly, to my relief, but loudly, roaring to life and then idling at top volume.

Well, a truck this old was bound to have a flaw; even if it was a flaw I could love. The ancient radio worked too, which was a plus I hadn’t expected.

Finding the school wasn’t difficult, though I had never been there before. The school, like most things, was just off the highway. It was not obviously a school; only the sign - declaring “Forks High School”, made me stop.  It almost looked like a little village of matching houses, built with the same maroon-coloured brick. There were so many trees and shrubs that I couldn’t see its size at first. Where was the feel of the institution? I wondered nostalgically. Where were the chain-link fences, the metal detectors?

(re-writers note: what the f**k? Do yall  really  have to go through metal detectors every morning?)

I parked in the first car park I saw;  just in front of a building with a sign reading front office.  I was sure it was off-limits (no one else was parked there) but I decided I would get directions instead of just circling around in the rain, like an idiot.  I stepped unwillingly out of the toasty truck cab and walked down a little stone path lined with dark hedges. I took a deep breath before opening the door.

Inside I was brightly lit and warmer than I’d hoped.  The office was small; a little waiting area with padded folding chairs, orange-flecked commercial carpet, notices and awards cluttering the faded wallpapered-walls, a clock ticking loudly somewhere  .  Plants grew, scattered across the place in pots, as though there wasn’t already enough green outside.  The room was split down the middle by a long counter, cluttered with baskets of paper and bright flyer paper taped across the front.  There were three desks behind the counter, one of which was manned by a large, red-haired woman wearing glasses. She was wearing a purple t-shirt, which immediately made me recall the hazard suit I was wearing.

“Can I help you?” She glanced up, over the glasses on the tip of her nose.

“I’m Bella Swan - Isabella,” I informed her, and immediately interest seemed to light in her eyes. I was expecting, no doubt a topic of gossip. Daughter of the Chief’s flighty ex-wife, come home at last.

“Of course,” she said.  She dug through a  precariously  high pile of documents on her desk until, “I have your schedule right here, and a map of a school .”

She went through my classes for me, highlighting the best routes to each one on the map, and gave me a slip for my teachers to sign, that I had to bring back at the end of the day. She smiled, eyes almost on the distance, like Charlie, and hoped, also like Charlie, that I would like it here in Forks. I tried to smile back as convincingly as possible.

When I went back out to my truck, other students were pulling past; I followed the line of traffic to a new car park. This one was filled with cars, which, to my great relief, were older like mine, nothing too flash. At home, I’d lived in one of the few lower-income neighbours in the ‘Paradise Valley’ District. It was a common thing to see a new Mercedes or Porsche in the student lot. The nicest car here was a shiny silver Volvo, and it stood out.  Still, I cut the engine as soon as possible to ensure that the thunderous volume wouldn’t draw any more attention to me.

I looked at the map for minutes in the truck, trying to memorize it now; so I  hopefully wouldn’t have to walk around with my nose stuck in it all day. I stuffed it into my bag and sucked in a huge breath. I can do this, I lied to myself. No one is going to bite. I finally exhaled and stepped out of the truck.

I pulled on the strings of my jacket until my hood strung to cover as much of my face as possible as I half-ran to the sidewalk, desperate to get out of the rain, to join a crowd of teenagers. My plain black jacket didn’t stand out, I  was relieved to notice.

Once I got around the Cafeteria (the closest building to the second parking lot), building three was easy to spot - due to the massive black “3” painted on a square in one of the corners.

Despite the ease of navigation, I felt my breathing gradually creep towards the definitions of hyperventilation as I approached the door. I tried holding my breath as I followed two unisex raincoats through the door.

The classroom was small. The people in front of me stopped just inside to hang their coats on a row of hooks next to the door. I copied them.  They were two girls; one porcelain-skinned blonde, and the other nearly as pale, with light brown hair. At least my paleness wouldn’t stand out here.

I took the slip up to the teacher; a tall, balding man, whose nameplate declared to be Mr Mason, who gawked at me when he saw my name - not exactly encouraging - and of course, i flushed tomato red. But at least he sent me to an empty desk in the far corner without making me introduce myself to the class. It was difficult to avoid the classmates' stares, even sitting down at the back of the room.

I keep my eyes down on the reading list Mr Mason had handed me - Bronte, Shakespeare, Chaucer, Faulkner. I had already read everything on the list. That was comforting … and boring. I wondered if I could talk my mother into sending me a folder of my old essays, or if she would think that would be cheating. I went through that argument in my head whilst the teacher droned on.

When the bell rang, a harsh and nasal buzzing noise, a gangly boy with skin problems and near-black hair leaned across the aisle to talk to me.

“You’re Isabella Swan, aren’t you?” He looked the overly helpful, chess club type.

“Bella,” I corrected. Everyone within a three-seat radius turned to look at me. The flush began creeping up my neck again.

“Where’s your next class?”

I had to check my bag. “Um, Government, with Jefferson, in building six.”

There was nowhere to look without meeting curious eyes.

“I’m headed towards building four, but I could show you the way…” definitely over-helpful, but it was nice. “I’m Eric,” he added.

I smiled tentatively. “Thanks.”

We got out jackets and headed out into the rain, which had picked up from its morning drizzle. I could’ve sworn several people behind us were walking close enough to eavesdrop. I hoped I wasn’t getting paranoid.

“So, this is a lot different than Phoenix, huh?” He asked.

“Very.”

“It doesn’t rain much there, I take it?”

“ Maybe  three or four times a year.”

“Wow, what must that be like?” He wondered.

“Sunny.”

“You don’t look very tan.”

A slight grin touched the corner of my mother, “My mother’s part albino.”

He studied my face apprehensively, and I sighed. It looked like clouds also damped the senses of humour. Give it a few months and I would forget how to use sarcasm.

We cut around the cafeteria, to the south buildings, closer to the gym. Eric took me all the way to the door, even though it was clearly marked.

“Well, good luck,” he said as I reached for the handle. “ Maybe  we’ll have some other classes together.”

He sounded hopeful.

I smiled just past him vaguely and went inside.

The rest of the morning passed in a similar fashion.  My trigonometry teacher, Mr Varner, who I would have hated anyway, because of the subject he taught, was the only one that made me stand in front of the class and introduce myself. I stammered, and blushed and tripped over my own feet on the way to my seat

After two classes, I started to recognise several faces in each class.  There was always someone braver than others who would introduce themselves and asked me questions, and I found myself lying a lot, but at least I didn’t have to look at the map.

One girl sat next to me in both Trig and Spanish, and she walked with me to the Cafeteria for lunch.

She was tiny, several inches shorter than my five feet four, and her chocolate brown curls fell in ringlets down to her shoulders. I couldn’t remember her name, so I smiled and nodded as she explained teachers and classes. It was such a struggle to keep up that I  just gave in somewhere about 5 minutes ago.

We sat at the end of a full table with several of her friends,  all of whom she had introduced to me. I had forgotten their names as soon as she spoke them. They all seem impressed at her bravery in having spoken to me in the first place. The boy from English, Eric, waved at me from across the room.

It was there, sitting in the lunchroom, trying to make conversation with seven complete strangers, that I first saw them.

They were sitting in the corner of the cafeteria, as far away from where I sat as possible in the long room.

There were five of them. They weren’t eating, though they each had a tray of untouched food in front of them.  They seemed to be talking, so quietly and tentatively it seemed as though their faces were barely moving at all.  They weren’t gawking at me, unlike most of the other students, so it was safe to stare at them without fear of meeting an excessively interested pair of eyes. But none of that was what caught, and held, my attention.

They didn’t look anything alike, and they were beautiful in a way that almost seemed doll-like.

There were 2 boys, on either side of the table, and 3 girls. On the very edge of the table - with his back half to me - was one of the boys;

Tall, lean in a muscular way, with honey golden, delicate curls that fell into a shaggy, untidy bob - One of his legs snaked around the chair of the girl next to him; the olive undertone of his skin, whilst completely offsetting most of his companions, was a stare contrast to her especially.

She was tiny -  barely  up to the shoulders of the caramel-haired boy - and pixie-like; thin to the extreme, with delicate features . She looked raw-boned, the sunkenness in her cheeks visible even from my great distance; her skin was as white, and as thin, las paper. Her hair was deep black, a grown-out buzz cut - that somehow managed to look feminine on her. The two seemed near drawn to each other, their centres of gravity displaced in favour of the other.

The two next to them seem similarly inclined - the way they lent into each other struck me with an image of yin and yang.  The first girl was super tall - even sitting now I could tell she would have easily stooped over Charlie - and muscled like a serious weight lifter.  She looked like she could’ve taken on any quarterback in the country in an arm-wrestling match with ease, her afro-textured curls yanked back into a ponytail. She sat, twisted in her chair, smiling at the last girl, who was nothing short of statuesque.  She had a beautiful figure, the kind you saw on the cover of Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition, the kind that made every girl around her take a self-esteem hit from just being in the same room. Her hair was pure gold,  gently waving halfway down her back.

On the end of the table was the other boy; lanky, and thin-boned, with untidy bronze-reddish hair.  His cheekbones sat high on his face, his bone structure sharply defined - a certain wartime handsomeness(1)to his gauntness.  He was more boyish than the others, who all looked like they could be in college, or even teachers here rather than students.

I stared because of their faces, so different, so similar, were all insanely,  inhumanly beautiful. Their skin had such an extreme paleness to it - the palest of all the students living in this sunless town. It looked as though, despite their skin tones, hadn't seen the sun in a decade. Paler than me, the albino. They also had dark shadows under their eyes - purplish, bruise-like shadows. As if they were suffering sleepless nights. Their cheeks were flushed bright pinks, stark against their pallidness.  It was like someone had turned the saturation up, creating richer dark tones, and brighter lightness. (2) It was hard to describe who was the most beautiful -  maybe  the perfect blond girl, or the bronze-haired boy.

They were all looking away - away from the other students. They stared exclusively at their neighbour, or in the case of the bronze-haired boy, away from anything in particular, even as they all spoke and hesitantly smiled. As I watched, the small girl rose with her tray - unopened soda, unbitten apple - and walked away with a quick, graceful lope that belonged on a runway.  I watched, amazed at her lithe dancer’s step, till she dumped her tray and glided through the back door, faster than I thought possible. My eyes darted back to the others, who had merely shifted more tightly together in her absence.

“Who are they?” I asked the girl from my Spanish class, whose name I’d forgotten.

She looked up to see who I meant - though like already knowing - and suddenly, he looked at her; the thinner one, the boyish one, the youngest,  perhaps. He looked at my neighbour for just a fraction of a second, and then his dark eyes flickered to mine.

He looked away quickly, faster than I could, though in a flush of embarrassment I dropped my eyes at once.  In that brief flash of a glance, his face held a bare-bones hint of curiosity, of interest, a smile twitching at the corner of his lips - but it seemed all the same an involuntary response - as if she had called his name, and he had looked up, already having decided not to answer.

My neighbour giggled in embarrassment at being caught looking, staring sharply at the table as I did.

“That’s Rosalie and Jasper Hale. Edward, Elenor, and Alice, the one who left, are the Cullens. They live altogether with Dr Cullen and his wife.” She whispered, under her breath.

I glanced sideways at the beautiful boy, who was looking at his tray now, picking a bagel to pieces with his long fingers.  His mouth was barely moving like he was talking quickly, but his eyebrows twitched in an almost animated fashion. The tall one - Elenor? - was leaning forward with a grin at whatever he was saying.

Strange, unpopular names, I thought. The kind of names a grandparent had. But maybe that was more common here - more traditional, small-town names? I finally remembered that my neighbour was called  Jessica, a  perfectly common name. There were two girls named Jessica in my History class back home.

“They are… very nice-looking.” A conspicuous understatement.

“Yes!” Jessica agreed with another giggle. “They’re all together though - Jasper and Alice, and... Eleanor and Rosalie… can you believe it? And they live together.”  Her voice held all the shock and condemnation of small-town gossip, I thought critically.  I had to admit that I had even in Phoenix living together would’ve caused gossip, but I still didn't appreciate the sneer that marred her face when she mentioned the girl's names.

“Which ones are the Cullens?” I asked. “They don’t look related…”

“Oh, they’re not. Dr Cullen is really young, in his twenties or early thirties. They’re all adopted. The Hales are brother and sister, twins,  I think, - the blondes - and they’re foster children.”

“They look a little old for foster children.” And a little too different to be twins.

“They are now. Jasper and Rosalie are eighteen, but they’ve been with Mrs Cullen since they were eight. She’s their aunt or something like that.”

“That’s  really  nice of them - to take care of all those kids like that, when they’re so young and everything.”

“I guess so,” Jessica admitted reluctantly, and I got the impression that she didn’t like the doctor and his wife for some reason.  With the glances she was throwing at their adopted children, I would presume the reason was jealousy. “But  I don't think Mrs Cullen can have kids, anyway, and she is like, way older than her husband.” She added as if any of that lessened their kindness.

Throughout the conversation, my eyes flickered again and again to the table where the strange family sat. They continued to look only at each other and not eat.

“Have they always lived in Forks?” I asked.  Surely  I would have noticed them on one of my summers here.

“No,” she said in a voice that implied it should be obvious, even to a new arrival like me. “They  just  moved down two years ago from somewhere in Alaska.”

I felt a surge of pity and relief. Pity because, as beautiful as they were, they were outsiders,  clearly not accepted. Relief that I wasn’t the only newcomer here, and certainly not the most interesting by any standard.

As I examined them, the youngest, who caught me staring early, looked up again and met my gaze, this time with evident curiosity in his expression. As I looked away, it seemed to me that his glance held some kind of unmet expectation.

“Which one is the boy with the red hair?” I asked.  I peeked at him from the corner of my eye, and he was still staring at me, but not gawking like the other students had today - he had a  slightly frustrated expression I didn’t understand. I looked down again.

“That’s Edward. He’s gorgeous, of course, but don’t waste your time. He doesn’t date.  Apparently  none of the girls here are good-looking enough for him.” She sniffed, a clear case of sour grapes. I wondered when he’d turned her down.

I bit my lip to hide my smile, then I glanced at him again. His face was turned away, but I thought his cheeks looked lifted, as if he were grinning, too.

After a few more minutes, the four of them left the table together. They were all noticeably graceful - even the big, brawny one. It was unsettling to watch. Edward didn’t look at me again.

I sat at the table with Jessica and her friends longer than I would have if I’d been sitting alone. I was anxious not to be late for class on my first day.  One of my new acquaintances, who considerately reminded me that her name was Angela, had Biology II with me for the next hour. We walked to class together in silence. She was shy, too.

When we entered the classroom, Angela went to sit at a table towards the back of the room, giving me a small smile and apologetic eyes over the rim of her glasses. She already had a neighbour, it seemed. In fact, all the tables were filled but one. In the centre of the room, I recognised Edward Cullen, sitting next to the one open seat.

My heart started pounding a little faster than usual.

As I walked down the aisle to the front of the class, to do my required intro to the teacher and get my slip signed, I was watching him surreptitiously.  Just as I passed, he suddenly went rigid in his seat.  His face jerked towards mine so fast it surprised me, staring at me with the strangest expression - it was more than angry, it was hostile, furious. I looked away, shocked, going red again. I stumbled over a book in the walkway and had to catch myself on the edge of a table.

The girls sitting there giggled.

I’d noticed that his eyes were black - coal black.

Mr Banner signed my slip and handed me a textbook with no-nonsense of introductions, or a hint of my full name. I could tell we were going to get along. Of course, he had no choice but to send me to the one open seat in the middle of the room.  I kept my eyes down as I went to sit by him, confused and awkward, wondering what I had done to earn the antagonistic stare he had given me.

I didn’t look up as I set my book on the table and took my seat, but I saw his posture change from the corner of my eye.  He was leaning away from me, sitting on the extreme edge of his chair, and averting his face, a hand gripped tight over his mouth like he had smelled something bad.  Inconspicuously, I sniffed. My shirt smelled like laundry detergent, my hair smelled like my favourite shampoo. They seemed innocent enough odours. I let my hair fall over my left shoulder, making a dark curtain between us and tried to pay attention to my teacher.

Unfortunately, the lecture was on cellular anatomy, something I'd already studied. I took notes carefully anyway, always looking down. Throughout the entire class, he never relaxed from his position on the edge of a chair. I could see his hand clenched into a fist, tendons standing out from his pale skin. I couldn't help but notice that his forearm looking surprisingly  muscular. He wasn’t as slight as he had looked next to his burly sister.

The class seemed to drag on forever. Was it because the day was finally ending, or because I was waiting for his fist to loosen? It never did; he continued to sit so still it looked like he wasn’t breathing. Was this his normal behaviour? I questioned my judgement of Jessica’s bitterness,  maybe she wasn’t as resentful as I thought. I hoped his tension had nothing to do with me. He didn’t know me from Eve.

I peeked at him one more time and regretted it. He was glaring at me again, his eyes full of revulsion, and some kind of curiosity. If looks could kill…

At that moment, the bell rang loudly, making me jump, and Edward Cullen was out of his seat.  Fluidly, he rose - taller than I had thought - his back to me, and he was out the door before anyone else was even out of their seats.

I sat frozen in my seat, staring after him. He was so mean. It wasn’t fair.  I began to gather my things slowly, trying to block the anger that filled me, for fear my face would flush again with rage.

“Aren’t you Isabella Swan?” a male voice asked.

I looked up to see a cute, baby-faced boy, his pale blond hair carefully gelled into orderly spikes, smiling at me in a friendly way.  Evidently , he didn’t think I smelt bad.

“Bella.”

“I’m Mike”

“Hi, Mike”

“Do you need any help finding your next class?”

“I’ve headed to the gym actually,  I think  it should be easy enough.”

“That’s my next class, too.” He seemed thrilled, though, in a tiny school like this, it wasn’t that big a coincidence.

We walked to class together; he was a chatterer - he supplied most of the conversation, which made it easy for me. He’d lived in California till he was ten, so he knew how I felt about the sun. It turned out he was in my English class, too. He was the nicest person I’d met today.

But as we were entering the gym, he asked, “so, did you stab Cullen with a pencil or something? I’ve never seen him act like that.”

“My scissors, actually.”

A smile twitched at the corner of his mouth, though his eyebrows were still furrowed. “He looked like he was in pain. Anyway, he’s a weird guy. If i were lucky enough to sit by you, I would have talked to you.”

I smiled at him before walking through to the locker room. He was friendly, but it wasn’t enough to ease my irritation.

The gym teacher, Coach Clapp, found me a uniform but didn’t make me dress down for today’s class. At home, only 2 years of RE. were required, but here? P.E was mandatory all four years. Forks literally was my personal hell.

The final bell rang at last. I walked slowly to the office to return my paperwork.  The rain had drifted away since the morning, but now the wind was stronger - I wrapped my arms around myself, it was that sharp. When I walked into the warm office, I almost turned around and walked back out.

Edward Cullen stood at the desk in front of me. I recognized the sight of his tousled red hair. He didn't appear to notice the sound of my entrance. I pressed myself against the back wall, waiting for the receptionist to be freed.

He was arguing with her in a low, attractive voice. I  quickly picked up the gist of the argument. He was trying to trade from sixth-hour biology to another time - any other time.

I  just couldn’t believe that it was about me.  It had to be about something else, something else must have happened before I entered the biology room. The look on his face must have been about whatever aggravation he was expressing here. It was impossible that this stranger could take such a sudden, intense dislike to me.

The door opened again, and the cold wind suddenly gushed through the room, rustling the papers on the desk, swirling my hair around my face.  The girl who came in merely stepped to the desk, and dropped a note into the wire basket and ducked straight back out again.  But Edward’s back stiffened, and he turned slowly to stare at me - his face was absurdly handsome - with piercing, shocked, uncomfortable, and near hate-filled eyes. For an instant, I felt a thrill of genuine fear, raising the hair on my arms. The look only lasted a second, but it was still enough to spike my internal debate over his dislike of me. There was some kind of fear in those eyes.

He turned back to the receptionist within a split second of looking at me.

“Never mind, then,” he said hastily in a voice like velvet. “I can see that it’s impossible. Thank you so much for your help.” And he turned on his heel without another look at me and disappeared out the door.

I went meekly to the desk, my face flushed red all over again, and handed her the signed slip.

“How did your first day go, dear?” the receptionist asked maternally.

“Fine,” I lied, my voice weak. She didn’t look convinced.

When I got to the truck, it was almost the last car in the lot. It seemed like a haven, already the closest thing to home I had in this damp green hole. I sat inside for a while,  just staring out the windshield blankly. But soon I was cold enough to need the heater, so I turned the key and the engine roared to life.

I headed back to Charlie's house, fighting tears the whole way there.

So was it me?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 - Edward is wartime handsome in this sense; https://portraitsofwar.files.wordpress.com/2013/02/slocum096.jpg  
> 2 - The idea that Vampires look excessively human, to the point of being doll-like belongs to 1953Swan. OG: https://1953swan.tumblr.com/post/183808281475/i-understand-why-vampires-traditionally-look-dead
> 
> I personally just really like the idea that Carlisle looks like 23 (as he was when he was turned) but Esme was turned at like…. 38 or somin, and everyone thinks that Carlisle is married to a MILF. Like, okay, I know that in the era she was born it was normal to have a get married and have a child young, but no. I think she looks at least 10+ years older than Carlisle (like easily 35ish) and that’s why people think its way more normal for the two of them to have so many older children.  
> Like people can accept the adoption story then, or maybe they assume he just looks young.  
> Also then, instead of being her doctor as a teen and then marrying her (which is pretty creepy) he was,,, and hear me out,,, her doctor when she was "clumsy" and "accidentally hurting herself", aka whilst she was married to Charles. and then he went to WW1 and it stopped, and then after he came back and she ran away, Carlisle happened to be around and kind of befriended her and then her son died and he saved her.  
> anyways too bad milf Esme is now canon you cannot stop me.


	2. Open Book

The next day was better… and worse.  
It was better because it wasn’t raining yet, though the clouds were dense and opaque. It was easier because I knew what to expect of my day. Mike came to sit by me in English, and walked me to my next class, with Chess Club Eric glaring at him all the while: that was kind of flattering. People didn’t look at me quite as much as they had yesterday. I sat with a big group at lunch, that included Mike, Eric, Jessica and several other people whose names and faces I now remembered. I began to feel like I was treading water instead of drowning in it.  
It was worse because I was tired; I still couldn’t sleep with the rain echoing around the house. It was worse because Mr Varner called on me in Tri when my hand wasn’t raised and I had the wrong answer. It was miserable because I had to play volleyball, and the one time I didn’t cringe out of the way of the ball, I hit my teammate in the head with it. And it was worse because Edward Cullen wasn’t in school at all.  
All morning I was dreading lunch, fearing his bizarre glares. Part of me wanted to confront him and demand to know what his problem was, what was behind all those expectations in his eyes. While I was lying sleepless in bed, I even imagined what I would say. But I knew myself too well to think that I would really have the guts to do it. I could make the cowardly lion look like the terminator.  
But when I walked into the cafeteria with Jessica - trying to keep my eyes from sweeping the place for him, and failing entirely - I saw that her four adopted siblings were sitting together at the same table, and he was not with them.  
Mike intercepted us and steered us to his table. Jessica seemed elated by the attention, and her friends quickly joined us. I tried to tune into the conversations around me, but I was still uncomfortable, waiting nervously for the moment he would arrive. I hoped that they would simply ignore me, and prove that I was making a big deal out of nothing.  
He didn’t come, and as time passed I grew more and more tense.  
I walked to biology with more confidence when, by the end of lunch, he still hadn't shown up. Mike, who was taking on the quality of a golden retriever, walked faithfully by my side to class. I hesitated for a second at the door, but Edward Cullen wasn’t there. I exhaled and went to my seat. Mike followed, talking about an upcoming trip to the beach. He lingered by my desk till the bell rang. Then he smiled at me wistfully and went to sit by a girl with braces and a bad perm.  
I didn’t want to be arrogant, but I was pretty sure that he was into me, and that was a strange feeling. I had no practice dealing with overly friendly boys, they had never really been into me at home. I wondered if I wanted him to like me. He was cute and everything, but his attention made me feel a little uncomfortable. Why was that? It looked like I was going to have to do something about Mike, and it wouldn’t be easy. In a town like this, where everyone lived on top of each other, diplomacy was essential.  
I was relieved to have the desk to myself, that Edward wasn’t there. I told myself that repeatedly. But I couldn’t get rid of the nagging suspicion that I was the reason he wasn’t there. It was ridiculous, and egotistical to think that I could affect anyone that strongly. It was impossible. And yet, I couldn’t stop worrying that it was true.  
When the school day was finally done, and the blush was fading out of my cheeks from the volleyball incident, I changed quickly back into my jeans and navy blue sweater. I hurried from my locker room, glad to find that I had successfully evaded my retriever friend for the moment. I walked swiftly out to the parking lot. It was crowded now with fleeing students. I got in my truck and dug through my backpack to make sure that I still had what I needed.  
It was so secret that Charlie couldn’t cook much besides fried eggs and bacon. Last night, I’d requested to be assigned kitchen detail for the duration of the stay. He was willing enough to let me take over. I also found that he had no food in the house. So I had my grocery list and the cash from the jar in the cupboard labelled FOOD MONEY, and I was headed to Thiftway.  
I gunned my deafening engine, ignoring the heads that turned my direction, and back carefully into the line of cars waiting to exit. As I waited, trying to pretend that the ear-splitting rumble was from someone else’s car, I saw the two Cullen’s and Hale twins getting into their car. It was the shiny new Volvo. Of Course. I hadn’t noticed their clothes before - I was too mesmerized by their faces. Now that I looked, it was obvious they were all dressed exceptionally well; simply, but in clothes that subtly hinted at designer origins. With their remarkable good looks, the style with which they carried themselves, they could have worn dishrags and pulled it off. It seemed unfair for them to have both looks and money. But as far as i could tell, that’s how life worked most of the time, and it didn’t look as if it brought them any acceptance here.  
But I couldn't fully believe that. The isolation had to be something they chose; I couldn’t imagine their beauty wouldn’t open doors for them.  
They looked at my noisy truck as I passed them, just like everybody else. Except they weren’t anything like anyone else. I saw that the blonde girl - Rosalie - had her hand casually around the waist of the really tall girl with the dark curly hair, the one who looked like she could bench press a bear, who easily had 5 inches on her. Though she was obviously pretty sure of herself, I was still surprised that she felt comfortable doing it. Not that the darker-skin girl wasn’t hot - she was super, mega-hot - but not… approachable. Like, not even the Rock would dare to whistle at her, if you know what I mean. I was also surprised that, in such a small town, they would ever dare to be so open about it. But then again, maybe I was making assumptions about small towns siring small minds - though the thinly veiled glares other students threw them didn’t so much to abolish my assumptions.  
The Thriftway was not far from the school, a few streets south of the highway. It was nice to be inside the supermarket; it felt normal. I did the shopping at home, and I fell into the pattern of the familiar task gladly. The store was big enough that I couldn’t hear the tapping of the rain on the roof to remind me where I was.

When I got home, I unloaded the groceries, reorganising the cupboards until everything was in a place that made sense. Charlie's system was kind of haphazard, I hoped he wouldn’t mind. Once I was satisfied with the organisation, I worked on dinner; I wrapped potatoes in foil and stuck them in the oven to bake, covered a steak in the marinade and balanced it on top of the fridge.  
When that was all ready, I took my book bag upstairs - before I started my homework, I changed into dry clothes, pulled up my damp hair into a ponytail, and checked my emails for the first time.  
I had three messages. All from Mom.

  
 _“Bella,”_ my mom wrote…  
 _Write to me as soon as you get in. Tell me how your flight was. Is it raining? I miss you already. I’m almost finished packing for Florida, but I can’t find my pink blouse. Do you know where I put it? Phil says hi. Mom_.

  
I sighed and went to the next. It was sent eight hours after the first.  
“ _Bella,”_ she wrote…  
 _Why haven’t you emailed me yet? What are you waiting for? Mom._

  
The last was from this morning:  
 _Isabella. If I haven’t heard from you by 5:30 p.m today, I’m calling Charlie._

  
I checked the clock. I still had an hour, but my mom was well known for jumping the gun.

_Mom,_   
_Calm down. I’m writing now. Don’t do anything rash._   
_Bella_

I sent that and began again.

_Mom,_   
_Everything is great. Of course, it’s raining. I was waiting for something to write about. School isn’t bad, just a little repetitive. I met some nice kids who sit by me at lunch. Your blouse is at the dry cleaners - you were supposed to pick it up Friday._   
_Dad bought me a truck, can you believe it? I love it. It’s old, but really sturdy, which is good, you know, for me._   
_I miss you, too. I’ll write again soon, but I’m not going to check my email every five minutes._   
_Relax, breathe, I love you._   
_Bella._

I heard the dad bang open, and I hurried downstairs to take the potatoes out and put the steak in to broil.  
“Bella?” My father called out when he heard me on the stairs.  
Who else? I thought to myself.  
“Hey, Dad, welcome home.”  
“Thanks.” He hung up his gun belt and stepped out of his boots as I bustled about the kitchen. As far as I was aware, he’d never shot it on the job. But it kept it ready. When I came here as a child, he would always remove the bullets as soon as he walked in the door. I guess he considered me old enough now to not shoot myself by accident, or depressed enough to shoot myself on purpose.  
“What’s for dinner?” He asked warily. Mom was an imaginative cook, when she bothered, and her experiments weren’t always edible. I was surprised, and sad, that he seemed to remember that far back.  
“Steak and potatoes,” I answered, and he looked relieved.  
He seemed to feel awkward standing in the kitchen doing nothing: he lumbered into the tiny living room to watch TV while I worked. We were both comfortable that way. I made a salad while the steak cooked, and set up the table.  
I called him in when dinner was ready, and he sniffed appreciatively and he walked into the room.  
“Smells good, Bells.”  
“Thanks.”  
We ate in silence for a few minutes. It was comfortable. Neither of us were bothered by the quiet. Maybe we were suited to live together.  
“So, how did you like school? Have you made any friends?” he asked, as he was taking seconds.  
“Well, I have a few classes with this girl Jessica, and I sit with her friends at lunch. And there’s this boy, mike, who’s very friendly. Everybody seems pretty nice.” With one outstanding exception.  
“Must be Mike Newton. Nice kid - nice family. His dad owns the sporting goods store just outside of town. Makes a good living off all the backpackers that come through here.”  
“Do you know the Cullen family?” I asked, hesitantly.  
“Dr. Cullen’s family? Sure, Dr Cullen’s a great guy.”  
“They… the kids… are a little different. They don’t seem to fit in very well with others.”  
I was surprised to see Charlie's face get red, the way it goes when he’s angry.  
“People in this town,” he muttered. “Dr Cullen is a brilliant surgeon who could probably work in any hospital in the world, and make ten times the salary he gets here. We’re lucky to have him - lucky that his wife wanted to live in a small town. He’s an asset to the community, and those kids all well behaved.” He continued, getting louder. “I had my doubts, when they first moved in, with all those adopted teenagers. I thought we might have some problems, but they’re all very mature - I’ve never had one speck of trouble from any of them. That’s more than I can say for the children of the folks who have lived in this town for generations. And they stick together the way a family should - camping trips and hikes every other weekend… just because they’re newcomers, people have to talk.”  
It was the longest speech I’ve ever heard Charlie make. He must feel strongly about whatever people were saying.  
“They seemed nice enough to me. I just noticed they kept to themselves, and that everyone likes to shoot them looks. They are all very attractive,” I added, trying to be more complimentary.  
“You should see the doctor,” Charlie said, laughing. “It’s a good thing he’s so happily married. A lot of people have a hard time concentrating on their work with him around.”  
We lapsed back into silence as we finished eating. He cleared the table, while I started on the dishes. He went back to the TV, and after I finished cleaning up, I went upstairs to unwillingly work on my math homework. I could feel a tradition in the making.  
That night was finally quiet. I fell asleep fast, exhausted.  
The rest of the week was uneventful. I got used to the routine of my classes. By Friday I was able to recognise, if not name, almost all the students at school. In the gym, the people on my team learned not to send the ball my direction, and to quickly step in front of me if the other team tried to take advantage of my weakness. I happily stayed out of their way.  
Edward Cullen didn’t come back to school.  
Every day, I watched anxiously until the rest of the Cullens entered the cafeteria without him. Then I could relax and join in the lunchtime conversation. Mostly it centred around a trip to La Push Ocean Park in two weeks that Mike was putting together. I was invited, and I had agreed to go, more out of politeness than the urge to hit the beach. Beach should be hot and dry.  
By Friday, I was totally comfortable entering my Biology class, no longer worried that Edward would be there. For all I knew, he had dropped out of school. I tried not to think about him, but I couldn’t totally erase the worry that I was responsible for his continued absence, ridiculous as it seemed.  
My first weekend in Forks passed without incident. Charlie, unused to spending time in the usually empty house, worked most of the weekend. I wrote my mom more fake cheerful emails, got ahead of my homework and cleaned the house. I did drive to the library on Saturday, but I didn’t even bother to get a card - there wasn’t anything interesting I hadn’t read; I would have to visit Olympia or Seattle soon, and find a good bookstore. I idly wondered what kind of gas mileage the truck got… and shuddered at the thought.  
The rain stayed soft over the weekend, quiet, so I was able to sleep well.  
People greeted me in the parking lot Monday morning. I didn’t know all their names but I smiled at everyone. It was colder this morning, but at least it wasn’t raining. In English, Mike took his accustomed seat by my side. We had a pop quiz on Wuthering Heights. It was straightforward, very, very easy.  
All in all, I was feeling a lot more comfortable than I had thought I would feel by this point. More comfortable than I had ever expected to feel here.  
When we walked out of class, the air was full of swirling bits of white. I could hear people shouting excitedly to each other. The wind bit at my cheeks, my nose.  
“Yes!” Mike sounded delighted, “It’s snowing!”  
I looked at the little cotton fluffs that were building up along the sideward and swirling erratically past my face.  
“Ugh.” Snow. There went my good day.  
He looked surprised. “Don’t you like snow?”  
“No. It's even colder than rain. Besides, I thought it was supposed to come down in flakes - you know, each other unique and all that. It just looks like the end of Q-tips.”  
“Haven’t you ever seen snow before?”  
“Sure, I have.” I paused. “On TV.”  
Mike laughed. And then a big, wet ball of dripping snow smacked into the back of his head. We both turned to see where it came from. I suspected Eric, who was walking away, his back towards us - in the wrong direction for his next class. Mike, apparently had the same notion. He bent over and began scraping together a pile of white mush.  
“I’ll see you at lunch, okay?” I kept walking as I spoke. “The last thing I want is ice to melt down the back of my neck all day.”  
He just nodded, his eyes on Eric’s retreating figure.  
Throughout the morning, everyone chattered excitedly about the snow; apparently it was the first snowfall of the new year. I kept my mouth shut. Sure, it was drier than rain - until it melted in your socks.  
I kept a sharp lookout on the way to the Cafeteria with Jessica, after Spanish. Mush balls were flying everywhere. I kept a binder in my hands, ready to use it as a shield. Jess thought it was hilarious, but something in my expression kept her from lobbing a snowball at me.  
Mike caught up to us when we walked in the doors, laughing, the ice melting the spikes in his hair. He and Jessica were talking animatedly about the snow fight as we got in line to buy food. I glanced towards that table in the corner out of habit. And then froze where I stood. There were five people at the table.  
Jessica pulled on my arm.  
“Hey? Bella? What do you want?”  
I looked down; my ears were hot. I had no reason to feel self-conscious, I reminded myself. I hadn’t done anything wrong.  
“What’s with Bella?” Mike asked Jessica.  
“Nothing,” I answered. “I’ll just get a soda today.” I caught up to the end of the line.  
“Aren’t you hungry?” Jessica asked.  
“Actually, I feel a little sick,” I said, my eyes still on the floor.  
I waited for them to get their food, and then followed them to my table, my eyes on my feet.  
I sipped my soda slowly, my stomach churning. Twice Mike asked, with unnecessary concern, how I was feeling. I told him it was nothing, but I was wondering if I should play it up and escape to the nurse’s office for the next hour.  
Ridiculous. I shouldn’t have to run away.  
I decided to permit myself one glance at the Cullen family’s table. If he was glaring at me, I would skip Biology, like the coward I was.  
I kept my head down, and glanced out from under my lashes.  
They were laughing. Edward, Jasper and Elenor all had their hair entirely saturated with melting snow. Alice lent away sharply as Elenor flipped her dripping hair towards them, leaving a wide arc of splatters across the front of her jacket - Rosalie lent around Alice to swish Elenor’s face with one hand, nailing her with a glare. Elenor merely grinned up at her for a long moment, and Rosalie cracked a smile. Alice and Edward looked at each other and fake gagged.  
They were enjoying the snowy day, just like everyone else - only they looked more like a scene from a movie than the rest of us.  
But, aside from the laughter and the playfulness, there was something different, and I couldn’t pinpoint what that difference was. I examined Edward, comparing him to my memory of last week. His skin was less pale, I decided - seemingly flushed from the snow fight - the circles under his eyes completely gone. His hair was darker, wet and slicked down to his head. But there was something else. I forgot to pretend I wasn’t starting, trying to isolate the change.  
“What are you starting at, Bella?” Jessica asked, her eyes following my stare.  
At the precise moment, his eyes flashed to meet mine.  
I dropped my head, letting my hair fall to conceal my face. I was sure, though, in the instant our eyes met, that he didn’t look harsh or unfriendly as he had last time I’d seen him. He just looked curious again, unsatisfied in some way.  
“Edward Cullen is staring at you,” Jessica giggled in my ear.  
“He doesn’t look angry, does he?” I could help my asking.  
“No,” She looked confused, “Should he be?”  
“I don’t think he likes me,” I confided. I still felt queasy. I put my head down on my arms.  
“The Cullens don’t like anybody… well, they don’t notice anyone enough to like them. But he is still staring at you.”  
“Stop looking at him,” I hissed.  
She snickered but finally looked away.  
Mike interrupted us then - he was planning an epic battle of the blizzard in the parking lot after school and wanted us to join. Jessica agreed enthusiastically. The way she looked at Mike left little doubt that she would be up for anything he suggested. I kept silent. I wondered how many years I would have to like in Forks before I would be bored enough to find frozen water exciting, and planned to hide in the gym until the parking lot cleared.  
For the rest of the lunch hour, I very carefully kept my eyes on my own table. I decided to honour the bargain I’d made with myself. Edward didn’t look like he was planning to murder me anymore, so it was no big thing to go to Biology. My stomach did little flips at the thought of sitting next to him again.  
I didn’t really want to walk to class with Mike as usual - he seemed to be a popular target for snowballs - but when we went to the door, everyone besides me groaned in unison. It was raining, washing all traces of snow away in clear, icy ribbons, down the sides of the walkway. I pulled up my hood, hiding my smile. I would be free to go straight home after Gym.  
Mike kept up a string of complaints on the way to building four.  
Once inside the classroom, I saw the relief that my Edward’s chair was still empty. Mr Banner was walking around the room, distributing one microscope and a box of slides per table. Class didn’t start for a few minutes, and the room buzzed with conversation. I kept my eyes away from the door, doodling idly on the cover of my notebook.  
I heard very clearly when the chair next to me moved, but my eyes stayed carefully focused on the pattern I was drawing.  
“Hello,” said a quiet, musical voice.  
I looked up, shocked that he was speaking to me. He was sitting as far away from me as the desk allowed, but his chair was angled toward me. His hair was dripping wet, dishevelled - even so, he just looked like he’d finished shooting a commercial. His perfect face was friendly, open, a slight smile on his lips. But his eyes were careful.  
“My name's Edward,” He continued, “I didn’t have a chance to introduce myself last week. You must be Bella Swan.”  
My mind was spinning with confusion. Had I made up the whole thing? He was perfectly polite now. I had to speak; he was waiting. But I couldn’t think of anything normal to say.  
“How do you know my name?” I stammered.  
He laughed softly, enchantingly. “Oh, I think everyone knows your name. The whole town’s been waiting for you to arrive.”  
I grimace. I knew it was something like that.  
“No,” I persisted, like an idiot, “I meant, why did you call me Bella?”  
He seemed confused. “Do you prefer Isabella?”  
“No, I like Bella,” I said, “But I think that my dad must have called me Isabella behind my back - that’s what everyone here seems to know me as,” I tried to explain, feeling like a moron.  
“Oh,” he looked away awkwardly, “I had just... heard others say ‘Bella’, ‘s’all.”  
Thankfully, Mr Banner started the class at the moment. I tried to concentrate as he explained the lab we would be doing; the slides were out of order, and working in partners, we had to seperate the slides of onion root tip cells into the phases of mitosis they represented and label them accordingly. We weren’t supposed to use our books. In twenty minutes, she would be coming around to see who had it right.  
“Get started,” he commanded.  
“Ladies first, partner?” Edward asked. I looked up to see him smiling a crooked smile, dimples and all that I couldn’t help smiling back.  
I wanted to show off, just a little. I’d already done this lab, and I knew what I was looking for. It should be easy. I snapped the first slide into place under the microscope and adjusted it quickly to the 40x objective. I studied the slide briefly.  
My assessment was confident. “Prophase.”  
“Do you mind if I double-check?” he asked, as I began to remove the slide. His hand caught mine, to stop me, as he asked. His fingers were ice-cold, like he’d been holding them in a snowdrift before class, and when he touched me, it felt as if an electric current passed through us.  
We both twitched our hands back, and an incomprehensible look passed over his face. “Oh, sorry,” he muttered, rereaching for the microscope. I watched him, as he examined the slide for an even shorter time than I had.  
“Prophase,” he agreed, writing it neatly on the top of our worksheet. Even his handwriting was perfect, like he’s taken penmanship classes or something. Did anyone still do that?  
He switched out the slides, and barely glanced at the new one before announcing, “Anaphase”, and writing it down, looping his A like it was calligraphy, like he was addressing a wedding invitation. I’d had to do the invitations for my mom’s wedding. I’d printed the labels in a fancy script that didn’t look anything as elegant as Edwards handwriting.  
“May I?” I ask, a little bit of challenge in my eyes, as I squinted at him over the lens of the microscope.  
He smiled, glanced down at the table, and pushed the microscope towards me.  
I looked through the eyepiece eagerly, only to be disappointed. Dang it, he was right.  
“Anaphase,” I agreed, annoyed. “Slide three?” I held out my hand, trying not to look at him.  
He smiled again, and I tried not to stare at how his nose scrunched.  
He handed it to me, dropping it into my palm.  
I took the most fleeting look I could manage.  
“Interphase,” I passed him the microscope with challenge. He took a swift peek, and then wrote it down.  
I tried to exchange slides, but they were too small, and I ended up dropping both. One fell off the table, and Edward caught it before it could hit the ground.  
“Ugh,” I exhaled, mortified, “Sorry.”  
He laughed a little, “It's not like we’d have to look to know anyway.” As calligraphed the word telophase into the last line of the worksheet.  
We were finished before anyone else was close. I could see Mike and his partner comparing two slides again and again, and another group had their book open under the table.  
Which left me with nothing to but try not to look at him… unsuccessfully. I glanced up, and he was staring at me, that same inexplicable look of frustration in his eyes. Suddenly, I identified that subtle difference in his face.  
“Did you get contacts?” I blurted out, unthinkingly.  
He seemed puzzled by my apropos-of-nothing question. “No?”  
“Oh,” I mumbled, “I thought there was something different about your eyes.”  
He shrugged, “It's the fluorescents,” and looked away.  
In fact, I knew there was something different. I vividly remembered the flat black colour of his eye the last time he’d glared at me - the colour was striking against the background of his pale skin and his auburn hair. Today, his eyes were a completely different colour: a strange gold, darker than butterscotch, but with the same warm tone. I didn’t understand how that was possible unless he was lying for some reason about the contacts. Or maybe Forks was making me crazy in the literal sense of the word.  
I looked down. His hands were clenched into fists again.  
Mr Banner came to our table to see why we weren’t working. He looked over our shoulders to glance at the completed lab, and then stared more intently to check the answers.  
“So, Edward, didn’t you think Isabella should get a chance with the microscope?” Mr Banner asked.  
“Bella,” Edward corrected automatically, “Actually, she identified three of the five.”  
Mr Banner looked at me now; his expression was sceptical.  
“Have you done this lab before?” He asked.  
I smiled sheepishly. “Not with onion root.”  
“Whitefish blastula?”  
“Yeah.”  
Mr Banner nodded. “Were you in an advanced placement program in Phoenix?”  
“Yes.”  
“Well, he said after a moment, “I guess it’s good you two are lab partners.” He mumbled something else as he walked away. After he left, I began doodling in my notebook again.  
“It’s too bad about the snow, isn’t it?” Edward asked. I had the feeling he was forcing himself to make small talk with me. It was like he had heard my conversation with Jessica at lunch, and was trying to check for himself.  
“Not really,” I answered honestly, instead of pretending to be normal like everyone else. I was still trying to dislodge the stupid feeling of suspicion, and couldn’t concentrate on putting up a socially acceptable front.  
“You don’t like the cold?”  
“Or the wet.”  
“Forks is going to be a very interesting place for you to live, then.”  
“I guess we’ll see,” I muttered darkly.  
He looked riveted by my response, for some reason I couldn’t imagine. His face was such a distraction that I tried not to look at it any more than courtesy absolutely demanded.  
“Why did you come here, then?”  
No one had asked me that - not straight out like he did.  
“It’s… complicated.”  
“I think I can keep up,” he pressed.  
I paused for a long moment, and then made the mistake of meeting his gaze. His dark gold eyes confused me, and I answered without thinking.  
“My mother got remarried,” I said.  
“That doesn’t sound so complex,” he disagreed but sounded sympathetic. “When did that happen?”  
“Last September.” My voice sounded sad, even to me.  
“And you don’t like him?” Edward guessed, his tone still kind.  
“No, Phil is fine. Too young, maybe, but nice enough.”  
“Why didn’t you stay with them?”  
I couldn’t fathom his interest, but he continued to stare at me with penetrating eyes as if my life’s story was somehow vitally important.  
“Phil travels a lot. He plays ball for a living.” I half-smiled.  
“Have I heard of him?” He asked, smiling in response, just enough for a hint of a dimple to show.  
“Probably not, he doesn’t play well. Strictly minor league, so he moves around a lot.”  
“And your mother sent you here so she could travel with him.” He said it as an assumption, not a question.  
My chin raised a fraction, “No, she didn’t, I sent myself.”  
His eyebrows knit together. “I don’t understand,” he admitted and seemed frustrated by that fact.  
I sighed. Why was I explaining this to him? He continued to stare at me with obvious curiosity.  
“She stayed with me at first, but she missed him. It made her unhappy… so I decided it was time to spend some quality time with Charlie.” My voice was decidedly glum.  
“But now you’re unhappy,” he pointed out.  
“And?” I challenged.  
“That doesn’t seem fair.” He shrugged, but his eyes were still intense.  
I laughed once, “Haven’t you heard? Life isn’t fair.”  
“I believe I have heard that somewhere,” he agreed dryly.  
“So that’s all,” I insisted, wondering why he was still staring at me that way.  
He hesitated, “I don’t know if it's that life is unfair, or you are too fair.”  
“Hmm?”  
“You put on a good show,” he said slowly, “But I’d be willing to bet you’re suffering more than you let anyone see.”  
“And?”  
“I don’t understand you, that’s all.”  
I stuck my tongue out at him like a five-year-old, and his face launched into a fully-fledged smile; dimples, crooked, a swished up nose and rosy cheeks; it was genuine and gorgeous.  
“Why does it matter to you?” I asked, irritated. I turned my eyes away, watching the teacher make his rounds, resisting the desire to stare. It was awkward, just looking at each other.  
‘That is a very good question,” he muttered, so quietly I wondered if he was talking to himself.  
After a few seconds of silence, I decided that was the only answer I was going to get. I couldn’t help but scowl at the blackboard. She sighed.  
“Am I annoying you?” He asked. He sounded amused.  
I glanced at him again, without thinking - and told the truth. “Not exactly. I’m more annoyed at myself. My face is so easy to read - my mother always calls me her open book.” I frowned.  
“On the contrary, I find you very difficult to read.” Despite everything he had said, he sounded like he meant it.  
My eyes softened, “My mother always said you can all but read my thoughts printed across my forehead.”  
His smile vanished, and he half-glared straight between my eyebrows, not angry, but intense like he was literally trying to read a printout of what I was thinking. Then he went back to smiling.  
“No such luck I’m afraid. I supposed I’ve gotten overconfident.” He laughed, and it sounded like music, but I couldn’t think of an instrument to compare it to. His teeth were pearly white and near perfect, but it reassured me to notice that some were uneven and pointed.  
Mr Banner called the class to order then, and I turned with relief to listen. I was in disbelief that I’d just explained my dreary life to this bizarre, beautiful boy who may or may not despise me. He’s seemed engrossed in our conversation, but I could see now, from the corner of my eye, that he was leaning away from me again, his hands gripping the edge of the table with unmistakable tension.  
I tried to appear attentive as Mr Banner went through the lab with transparencies on the overhead projector, but my thoughts were far away from the lecture.  
When the bell finally rang, Edward rushed as swiftly and as gracefully from the room as he had last Monday. And, like last Monday, I stared after him in amazement.  
Mike got to my table as nearly as fast and picked up my books for me. I imagined him with a wagging tail.  
“That was awful,” he said. “They all looked exactly the same. You’re lucky you had Cullen for a partner.”  
“I didn’t have any trouble with it,” I said, stung by his assumption. I regretted the snub instantly. “I’ve done the lab before, though,” I added before he could get his feelings hurt.  
“Cullen seemed friendly enough today,” he commented as we shrugged into our raincoats. He didn’t seem pleased about it.  
I tried to make my voice casual, “I wonder what was with him last Monday.”  
I couldn’t concentrate on Mike’s chatter as we walked to the Gym, and R.E. didn’t do much to hold my attention, either. Mike was on my team today. He chivalrously covered my position as well as his own, so I only had to pay attention when it was my turn to serve; my team all ducked.  
The rain was just a mist as I walked to the parking lot, but I was still pretty damp when I got in the truck. I turned the heat up as high as it could go, for once not caring about the mind-numbing roar. I unzipped my jacket, put the hood down, and fluffed my damp hair out so the heater could dry it on the way home.  
As I looked around me to make sure the way was clear, I noticed the still, white figure. Edward Cullen was leaning against the front door of the Volvo, three cars down from me, and staring intently in my direction. The smile was gone, but at least so was the murder - for now, anyway. I looked away swiftly and threw my truck into reverse, almost hitting a rusty Toyota Corolla in my haste. Lucky for the Toyota, I stomped on the brake in time. It was just the sort of car that my truck would make scrap metal of. I took a deep breath, still looking out the other side of my car, and cautiously pulled out again, with greater success. I stared straight ahead as I passed the Volvo, but I could see enough in my peripheral vision to know that he was laughing.


	3. 3. Phenomenon

When I opened my eyes in the morning, something was different.

It was the light. It was still the gray-green light of a cloudy day in the forest, but it was clearer somehow. I realized there was no fog veiling my window.

I jumped up to look outside, and then groaned in horror.

A fine layer of snow covered the yard, dusted the top of my truck, and whitened the sideway. But that wasn’t the worst part. All the rain from yesterday had frozen solid - coating the needles on the trees in fantastic, gorgeous patterns, and making the driveway a deadly ice slick. I had enough trouble not falling down when the ground was dry; it might be safer for me to go back to bed now.

Charlie had left for work before I got downstairs. In a lot of ways, living with him was like having my own place, and I found myself reveling in the aloneness instead of being lonely. It was nice to not have to be worrying after Mom every minute.

I threw down a quick bowl of cereal and some orange juice from the carton. I felt excited to go to school, and that scared me. I knew it wasn’t the stimulating learning environment I was anticipating, or seeing my new set of friends. If I was being honest with myself, I knew I was eager to get to school because I would see Edward Cullen. And that was very, very stupid.

I should be avoiding him entirely after my brainless and embarrassing babbling yesterday. And I was suspicious of him; why should he lie about his eyes? I was still frightened of that hostility that he had emanated, and I was still tongue-tied whenever I pictured his perfect face, and the way he laughed. I was well aware that my league and his league were spheres that did not touch. So I shouldn’t be at all anxious to see him today.

It took every ounce of my concentration to make it down the icy brick driveway alive. I almost lost my balance when I finally got to the truck, but I managed to cling onto the side mirror and save myself at the last second. Clearly, today was going to be nightmarish.

Driving to school, I distracted myself from my fear of falling and my unwanted speculations about Edward Cullen by thinking about Mike and Eric, and the obvious difference in how teenage boys responded to me here. I was sure I looked exactly the same as I had in Phoenix. Maybe it was just that the boys back home had watched me pass slowly though all the awkward phases of adolescence and still thought of me that way. Perhaps it was because I was a novelty here, where novelties were few and far between. Possibly my crippling clumsiness was seen as endearing rather than pathetic, casting me as a damsel in distress. Whatever the reason, Mike’s puppy dog behavior and Eric’s apparent rivalry with him were disconcerting. I wasn’t sure if I didn't prefer being ignored. The way I phrased that thought stoked image of a certain redhead.

My truck seemed to have no problem with the black ice that covered the roads. I drove very slowly though, not wanting to carve a path of destruction through Main Street.

When I got out of my truck at school, I saw why I’d had so little trouble. Something silver caught my eye, and I walked to the back of the truck - carefully gripping the side for support - to examine my tires, and tears instantly sprang to my eyes.

There were thin criss-crossed chains in diamond shapes around them. Charlie had gotten up who knows how early to put snow chains on my truck. My throat was tight and I suddenly couldn’t breathe. I wasn’t used to being taken care of, and Dad’s unspoken concern caught me by surprise.

It was standing by the back corner of the truck, struggling to fight back the sudden wave of emotion the snow chains had brought on, when I heard an odd sound.

It was a high-pitched screech, and it was fast becoming painfully loud. I looked up, startled.

I saw several things simultaneously. Nothing was moving in slow motion, the way that it does in movies.

Instead, the adrenaline rush seemed to make my brain work much faster, and I was able to absorb in clear detail several things at once.

Edward Cullen was standing four cars down from me, staring at me in horror. His face stood out from a sea of faces, all frozen in the same masks of shock - the red sharp against the snow. But of more immediate importance was the dark blue van that was skidding, tires locked and squealing against the brakes, spinning wildly across the ice of the parking lot.

It was going to hit the back corner of my truck.

And I was standing next to the rear wheel.

I didn’t even have time to close my eyes.

Just before I heard the shattering crunch of the van folding around my truck bed, something hit me, hard, but not in the direction I was expecting. A rock solid force slammed into my left side, pressed to my waist - the force of it caused me to rock to the right - my head cracked against the wheel guard, even as the same weight snaked around me, cradling my weight and alleviating the extent of the force.

A low curse above me made me aware that someone was with me, and the voice was impossible not to recognise and the reassuring weight by my side disappeared.

Two thin, white hands shot out protectively in front of me, and the van shuddered to a stop half a foot from my face - the hands fitting providentially into a deep dent in the side of the van’s body.

Then his hands moved so fast they blurred. One was suddenly gripping the body of the van, and something was dragging me, swinging my legs around like a rag doll - until they hit the tires of my car. A groaning metallic thud hurt my ears, and the van settled, glass popping, onto the asphalt - exactly where, a second ago, my legs had been.

It was absolutely silent for one long second before the screaming began. In the abrupt bedlam, I could hear more than one person shouting my name. But more clearly than all the yelling, I could hear Edward Cullen’s low, frantic voice in my ear.

“Bella? Are you alright?”

I looked up at him, and he stared back at me, and I realized that the iron grip around my waist was his arm, pulling me close to the side of his body. And we were still staring at each other.

“Bella…” he whispered, his head dipping forward nearly indistinguishably. Concern in his eyes, taking the usual place of the hostility and expectations, yet no less intense.

“I’m fine,” my voice sounded strange. I tried to sit up, and his arm relaxed to help guide me.

“Be careful,” he warned as he shifted, “I think you hit your head pretty hard.”

I became suddenly aware of a throbbing ache centred above my left ear.

“Ow,” I sighed.

“That’s what I thought.” His voice, amazingly, sounded like he was suppressing laughter, and I couldn’t stop looking at his lips.

“How in the..” I trailed off, trying to clear my head, get my bearings. His golden eyes burrowed into my brain. I looked away from him - and was left staring at the van. “How did you get over here so fast?”

“I was standing right next to you, Bella,” he said, his tone serious again.

And then they found us, a crowd of people with tears streaming down their faces, shouting at each other, shouting at us.

“Don’t move,” someone instructed.

Edward slid his hand from my back smoothly, but quickly, sliding as far away from me as he could in the limited space.

“Get Tyler out of the van!” someone else shouted.

There was a flurry of activity around us. I tried to get up, but Edward’s hand pushed my shoulder down.

“Just stay put for now,”

“But it’s cold,” I complained. It surprised me when he laughed outright at that. There was an edge to the sound.

“You were over there,” I suddenly remembered, and his chuckle stopped short. “You were over by your car.”

His expression turned hard. “No, I wasn’t.”

“I saw you.” All around us was chaos. I could hear the gruffer voices of adults arrive on scene.

But I obstinately held on to our argument; I was right and he was going to admit it.

“Bella, I was standing with you, and I pulled out of the way.” He unleashed the full, devastating power of his eyes on me, as if trying to communicate something crucial.

“No.” I set my jaw.

The gold in his eyes blazed. “Please, Bella.”

“Why?” I demanded.

“Trust me,” he pleaded, his voice so soft.

I could hear the sirens now. “Will you promise to explain everything to me later?”

“Fine,” he snapped, abruptly exasperated.

“Fine,” I mumbled back, unable to process his mood swings with everything else I was trying to come to terms with. What was I supposed to think, when what I remembered was impossible?

It took six EMT’s and two teachers - Mr Varner and Coach Clapp - to shift the van far enough away from us to bring the stretchers in. Edward vehemently refused his, insisting he hadn’t been touched. I tried to do the same, but the traitor told him that I’d hit my head and then made it sound worse than it was, throwing around words like ‘concussion’ and ‘hemorrhage’. I wanted to die when they put on the neck brace. It looked like the entire school was there, watching soberly as they loaded me in the back of the ambulance.

Edward got to ride in the front.

It was maddening.

To make matters worse, Chief Swan arrived in his cruiser before they could get me safely away.

“Bella!” he yelled in panic when he recognized me on the stretcher.

“I’m completely fine, Char - Dad,” I sighed. “There’s nothing wrong with me.”

He turned to the closest EMT for a second opinion. I tuned him out to consider the jumble of inexplicable images churning chaotically in my head. When they’d lifted me away from the car, I had seen the deep dent in my car’s tray- a very distinct dent that fit the contour of Edward’s slim shoulders… as if he had braced himself against the car with enough force to damage the metal frame…

And then, there was his family, looking on from a distance, with expressions that ranged from disapproval (Jasper) to fury (Rosalie) but held no hint of concern for their brother’s safety.

I remembered that sensation of almost flying through the air… that hard form that had cradled my side… Edward’s hand under the frame of the van, like it was holding it off the ground...

I tried to think of a logical solution that could explain what I had just seen - a solution that excluded the assumption that I was insane. I didn’t _feel_ crazy, but maybe crazy people always felt sane.

Naturally, the ambulance got a police escort to the county hospital. I felt ridiculous the whole time they were unloading me. What made it worse was that Edward simply glided through the hospital doors under his own power. I guess there were benefits to knowing the management, huh?

They put me in the emergency room, a long room with a line of beds separated by pastel-patterned curtains. A nurse put a pressure cuff on my arm and a thermometer under my tongue. Since no one bothered pulling a curtain around to give me some privacy, I decided I wasn’t obligated to wear the embarrassing neck brace anymore. As soon as the nurse walked away, I quickly unfastened the Velcro and threw it under the bed.

There was another flurry of hospital personnel, another stretcher brought to the bed next to me. I recognized Tyler Crowley from my Government class beneath the bloodstain bandages wrapped tightly around his head. Tyler looked a hundred times worse than I felt. But he was staring anxiously at me.

“Bella, I’m so sorry!”

“I’m fine, Tyler - you look awful, are you all right?” As we spoke, nurses began unwinding his soiled bandages, exposing a myriad of shallow slices all over his forehead and left cheek.

He ignored me, “I thought I was going to kill you! I was going too fast, and I hit the ice wrong…” He winced as one of the nurses started dabbing at his cheek.

“Don’t worry about it; you missed me.”

“How did you get out of the way so far? You were there, and then you were gone…”

“Umm… Edward pulled me out of the way.”

He looked confused. “Who?”

“Edward Cullen - he was standing next to me.” I’d always been a good liar, but even I thought that didn’t sound convincing at all.

“Cullen? I didn’t see him… wow, it was all so fast, I guess. Is he okay?”

“I think so. He’s here somewhere, but they didn’t make him use a stretcher.”

I knew I wasn’t crazy. So what had happened? There was no way to explain away what I’d seen.

They wheeled me away, then, to X-ray my head, I suppose. I told them there was nothing wrong, and I was right. Not even a concussion. I asked if I could leave, but the nurse said I had to talk to a doctor first. So I was trapped in the ER, waiting, harassed by Tyler’s constant apologies and promises to make it up to me. No matter how many times I tried to convince him I was fine, he continued to torment himself. Finally, I closed my eyes and ignored him. He kept up a remorseful mumbling.

“Is she sleeping?” a musical voice asked. My eyes flew open.

Edward was standing at the foot of my bed, smiling. I glared at him, (It wasn’t easy - it would have been more natural to ogle) trying to put the pieces together in my head. He didn’t look like someone who could stop attacking vehicles with his bare hands. But then, he also didn’t look like anyone I had ever seen before.

“Hey, Edward, I’m really sorry -” Tyler began.

Edward lifted a hand to stop him.

“Hey, it’s okay! No blood, no foul,” he said, flashing his uneven teeth. He moved to sit on the edge of Tyler’s bed, facing me. He smiled again.

“So, what’s the verdict?” he asked me.

“There’s nothing wrong with me at all, but they won’t let me go,” I complained. “How come you aren’t strapped to a gurney like the rest of us?”

“It’s all about who you know,” he answered. “But don’t worry, I came to spring you.”

Then a doctor walked around the corner, and my mouth fell open. He was young, he was blond… and he was handsomer than any movie star I’d ever seen. Like someone had sliced up Marlon Brando, James Dean, Laurence Olivier, took the best parts and glued them together to form him. He was pale, though, and tired-looking, with circles under his eyes. From Charlie’s description, this had to be Edward’s father.

“Hi, Dad!” Definitely Edward’s father.

He smiled warmly at the bronze-haired boy, before turning that smile to me. “So, Miss Swan,” Dr Cullen said, in a remarkably appealing voice, a faint English accent, “how are you feeling?”

“I’m fine,” I said, firmly, and I hoped, for the last time.

He walked to the lightboard on the wall over by my head and turned it on.

“Your CT scan looked good, no bleeding or bruising on the brain,” he continued. “Does your head hurt? Edward said you hit it pretty hard.”

“It’s fine,” I repeated with a sigh, throwing a quick scowl towards Edward, who bit his tongue trying not to smile.

The doctor's cool fingers probed lightly along my skull. He noticed when I winced.

“Tender?” he asked.

“Not really. I’d had worse.”

I heard a chuckle and looked over to see Edward’s patronizing smile. My eyes narrowed.

“Well, your father is in the waiting room - you can go home with him now. But come back if you feel dizzy or have trouble with your eyesight at all.”

“Can’t I go back to school?” I asked, imagining Charlie playing nurse.

“Maybe you should take it easy today.”

I glanced at Edward. “Does he get to go to school?”

“Someone has to spread the good news that we survived,” Edward said, blithely.

Dr Cullen raised an eyebrow at his son. “Or maybe someone should go home, and rest, and spend time with their doting mother. And anyway,” he corrected, turning back to me “most of the school seems to be in the waiting room.”

I was caught between grinning at the equity and cringing. The latter won. “Oh, no.”

Dr Cullen raised his eyebrow. “Do you want to stay?”

“No, no!” I insisted, throwing my legs over the side of the bed and hopping down quickly. Too quickly - I staggered, and Dr Cullen caught me. He looked concerned.

“I’m fine,” I assured him again. “My balance problems have nothing to do with hitting my head.”

“Mmm,” his eyes crinkled in amusement, “take some Tylenol for the pain,” he suggested as he steadied me.

“It doesn’t hurt that bad,” I insisted.

“It sounds like you were extremely lucky,” Dr Cullen said, smiling as he signed my chart with a flourish.

“Lucky Edward happened to be standing next to me,” I amended with a hard glance at the subject of my statement.

“Oh, well, yes,” Dr Cullen agreed, suddenly occupied with the papers in front of him. Then he looked away, at Tyler, and walked to the next bed. My intuition flickered; the doctor was in on it, whatever it was. 

“I’m afraid that you’ll have to stay with us just a little bit longer,” he said to Tyler and began checking his cuts.

As soon as the doctor’s back was turned, I moved to Edward’s side.

“Can I talk to you for a minute?” I hissed under my breath. He took a step back from me, his jaw suddenly clenched. 

“Your father is waiting for you,” he said through his teeth.

I glanced at Dr Cullen and Tyler.

“I need to speak with you alone.” I pressed.

He glared - but it wasn’t the same as the first day, not nearly as homicidal, so I just waited. After a second, he turned his back and stalked quickly down the long room. I nearly had to run to keep up. As soon as we turned the corner into a short hallway, he spun around to face me.

“What do you want?” he asked, sounding annoyed. 

His unfriendliness intimidated me. My words came out with less severity than I’d intended. “You owe me an explanation,” I reminded him and pressed myself against the wall.

“I saved your life - I don’t owe you anything.” 

I flinched back from the resentment in his voice. The way he was pressed against the other side of the protruding corner gave him leave to stare past me, into the distance. “You promised.”

“Bella, you hit your head, you don’t know what you’re talking about.” His tone was cutting.

My temper flared now, and I glared at him. “There’s nothing wrong with my head.” 

His gaze snapped to me now, and he glared back. “What do you want from me, Bella?”

“I want to know the truth,” I said. “I want to know why I’m lying for you.”

“What do you think happened?” he snapped.

It came out in a rush.

“All I know is that you weren’t anywhere near me - Tyler didn’t see you either, so don’t tell me I hit my head too hard. That van was going to crush us both - and it didn’t, and your hands left dents in the side of it - and you left a dent in my car, and you’re not hurt at all - and the van should have smashed my legs, but you were holding it back…” I could hear how crazy it sounded, and I couldn’t continue. I was so mad I could feel the tears coming; I tried to force them back by grinding my teeth together.

He stared at me incredulously, eyes wide. But he couldn’t entirely hide the tension, his defensiveness.

“You think I lifted a van off you?” His tone questioned my sanity, but it only made me more suspicious. It was like a perfectly delivered line by a skilled actor, so hard to doubt, but at the same time, the frame of the movie screen reminded you nothing was actually real.

I nodded once, jaw tight.

He smiled, hard and mocking. “Nobody will believe that, you know.”

“I’m not going to tell anybody.”

Surprise flitted across his face, and the smile faded. “Then why does it matter?”

“It matters to me,” I said. “I don’t like to lie - so there’d better be a good reason why I’m doing it.”

“Can’t you just thank me and get over it?”

“Thank you,” I said, and then folded my arms, waiting.

“You’re not going to let it go, are you?”

“Nope.”

“Well then, I hope you enjoy disappointment.”

He went to turn away, and I grabbed his wrist - it was cold. He wrenched it out of my grasp, but paused.

“If you were going to be like this,” I asked, “Then why did you bother?”

He hesitated, and his head dipped, hair flashing under the hospital lighting. Silent for a moment, until

“I don’t know.” He whispered and walked away.

I was so angry, it took me a few minutes until I could move. When I could walk, I made my way slowly to the exit at the end of the hallway.

The waiting room was more unpleasant than I’d feared. It seemed like every face I knew in Forks was there, staring at me. Charlie rushed to my side, and I grabbed his hand, reassuringly.

“There is nothing wrong with me,” I assured him, trying to keep the sullenness from my voice. I was still aggravated. 

“What did the doctor say?”

“Dr Cullen saw me, and he said I was fine and I could go home.” I sighed. Mike and Jessica and Eric were all there, beginning to converge on us. “Let’s go,” I urged.

Charlie put one arm behind my back, not quite touching me, and led to the glass doors of the exit. I waved sheepishly at my friends, hoping to convey that they didn’t need to worry anymore. It was a huge relief - the first time I’d ever felt that way - to get into the cruiser.

We drove in silence. I was so wrapped up in my thoughts I barely even knew Charlie was there. I was positive that Edward’s defensive behaviour in the hall was a confirmation of the bizarre things I still could hardly believe I’d witnessed.

When we got home, Charlie finally spoke.

“Um… you’ll need to call Renee.” He hung his head, guilty.

I was appalled. “You told Mom!”

“Sorry, Bells, but I had to. You know she would’ve killed me if I didn’t.”

I slammed the cruiser door on my way out. 

My mom was in hysterics, of course. I had to tell her I felt fine at least thirty times before she would calm down. She begged me to come home -forgetting the fact that home was empty at the moment - but her pleas were easier to resist than I would have thought. I was consumed with the mystery Edward presented. And more than a little obsessed with Edward himself. Stupid, stupid, stupid. I wasn’t as eager to escape Forks as I should be, as any normal, sane person would be.

And besides, I liked living with Charlie.

I decided I might as well go to bed early that night. Charlie continued to watch me anxiously, and it was getting on my nerves. But right before I scurried up the stairs, I called out.

“Dad?”

“Yeah, Bells?” He stuck his head out from around the corner, in the living room.

I hated the feeling that had been sitting in my gut all afternoon.“I’m… I’m sorry I yelled earlier, you were right. Mom had the right to know.”

He shrugged the tiniest bit, “I’m sorry I upset you, Bells. I just thought… I just thought you would want her to know, so she… so _you_ could make a proper decision about whether or not you want to stay.”

I was taken aback, “Ch- Dad, why would that make me want to leave?”

He looked down, and shuffled his feet. “I don’t know. I know you have your doubts about Forks, and I thought, maybe it would be the tipping point.”

“Dad.” I stepped forward. “Something like that could happen just as easily back home - back in Phoenix.” Minus the ice.

He looked at me, again, just for a moment, before his eyes settled on some imaginary spot just over my left shoulder, like they always did when he said something important. “I know, Bella. But… I love you, kid.”

“I love you, too, Dad.”

He nodded slightly and turned back to the living room, and I made my way up the stairs. I stopped by the bathroom, and grabbed three Tylenol - they did help, and as the pain eased, I drifted to sleep. 

That was the first night I dreamed of Edward Cullen.


	4. 4. Invitations

In my dream it was very dark, and what dim light there was seemed to be radiating from Edward’s skin. I couldn’t see his face, just his back as he walked away from me, leaving me in the blackness. No matter how fast I ran, I couldn’t catch up to him; no matter how loud I called, he never turned.

Troubled, I woke in the middle of the night and couldn’t sleep again for what seemed like a very long time. After that, he was in my dreams nearly every night, but always on the periphery, never within reach.

The month that followed the accident was uneasy, tense and, at first, embarrassing.

To my dismay, I found myself the center of attention for the rest of that week. Tyler Crowley was impossible, following me around, obsessed with making amends to me somehow. I tried to convince him what I wanted more than anything else was for him to forget all about it - especially since nothing had actually happened to me - but he remained insistent. He followed me between classes and sat at our now-crowded lunch table. Mike and Eric were even less friendly towards him than they were to each other, which made me worry that I’d gained another unwelcome fan.

No one seemed concerned about Edward, though I explained over and over that he was the hero - how he had pulled me out of the way and had nearly been crushed, too. I tried to be convincing. Jessica, Mike, Eric and everyone else always commented that they hadn’t even seen him there till the van was pulled away.

I wondered to myself why no one else had seen him standing so far away, before he was suddenly, impossibly saving my life. With chagin, I realized the probable cause - no one else was as aware of Edward as I always was. No one else watched him the way I did.

How pitiful.

Edward was never surrounded by crowds of curious bystanders eager for his firsthand account.

People avoided him, and his family the way they usually did - like the plague. The Cullens and the Hales sat at the same table as always, talking exclusively amongst themselves. None of them, especially Edward, glanced my way anymore.

When he sat next to me in class, as far from me as the table would allow, he seemed totally unaware of my presence. Like my seat was empty. Only now and then, when his fists would suddenly ball up - skin stretched even whiter over the bones - did I wonder if he wasn’t quite as oblivious as he appeared.

He wished he had just let me be crushed - there was no other conclusion I could come to.

I wanted to talk to him, so badly, and the day after the accident I tried. The last time I’d seen him, outside the ER, we’d both been so furious, I still was angry that he wouldn’t trust me with the truth, even though I was keeping my part of the bargain flawlessly. But he had, in fact, saved my life, no matter how he’d done it. And, overnight, the heat of my anger faded into awed gratitude and raw curiosity.

He was already in his chair when I got to Biology. He didn’t turn when I sat down, just kept staring straight ahead. He showed no sign that I was there.

“Hello, Edward,” I said pleasantly, to show him I was going to behave myself.

He turned his head half an inch toward me, but his eyes stayed focused on the blackboard. He gave me one little half-nod, then turned his face away from me.

And that was the last contact I’d had with him, though he was there, a foot away from me, every day. I watched him sometimes, unable to stop myself - from a distance, though, in the cafeteria or parking lot. I watched as his golden eyes grew perceptibly darker day by day (then abruptly, they were honey coloured again. And the slow progression toward black would begin again.). But in class I gave no more notice that he existed than he showed toward me. I was miserable. And the dreams continued.

Despite my upbeat lies, the tenor of my emails alerted Renee to my melancholy, and she called a few times, worried. I tried to convince her it was just the weather that had me down.

Mike, at least, was pleased by the obvious coolness between me and my lab partner.

I could see he’d been worried that Edward’s daring rescue might have impressed me, that some kind of shared trauma would have bonded us or something, and he was relieved that it seemed to have the opposite effect. He grew more confident, sitting on the edge of my table to talk before Biology class started, ignoring Edward as completely as he ignored us.

The snow washed away for good after that one dangerously icy day. Mike was disappointed he’d never gotten to stage his snowball fight, but pleased that the beach trip would soon be possible. The rain continued heavily though, as the weeks passed.

I hadn’t really been aware of how much time was truly passing. Most days looked the same - gray, green, and more gray. My stepdad had always complained that Phoenix didn’t have seasons, but as far as I could tell, Forks was much worse. I had no idea spring was anywhere near appearing until I was walking to the cafeteria with Jessica one morning.

She asked, as casually as she could, if she had my permission to invite Mike to the girls’ choice spring dance in two weeks.

“Are you sure you don’t mind… you weren’t planning to ask him?” she persisted when I told her I didn’t mind in the least.

“No, Jess, I’m not going,” I assured her. Dancing was glaringly outside the range of my abilities.

“It would be really fun.” Her attempt to convince me was halfhearted. I suspected that Jessica was trying to assess the risk of Mike’s deviation of her as his date.

“You have fun with Mike,” I encouraged.

The next day, I was surprised that Jessica wasn’t her usual gushing self in Trig and Spanish. She was silent as she walked by my side between classes, and I was afraid to ask why. If Mike had turned her down, I was the last person she would want to tell.

My fears were strengthened during lunch when Jessica sat as far from Mike as possible, chatting animatedly with Eric. Mike was unusually quiet. I sat on Jessica’s other side, and avoided looking at Mike at all.

He was still quiet when we walked to Biology in silence after lunch, the uncomfortable look on his face a bad sign. But he didn’t broach the subject until I was in my seat, and he was perched on my desk. As always, I was electrically aware of Edward sitting close enough to touch, as distant as if he were merely an invention of my imagination.

“So,” Mike said, looking at the floor, “Jessica asked me to the spring dance.”

“That’s great.” I made my voice bright and enthusiastic. “You’ll have a lot of fun with Jessica.”

“Well…” He floundered as he examined my smile, clearly not happy with my response. “I told her I had to think about it.”

Seriously? “Why would you do that?” I let disapproval colour my tone, though I was relieved he hadn’t given her an absolute no.

His face was bright red as he looked down again. Pity shook my resolve, ever so slightly. 

“I was wondering if… well, if you might be planning to ask me.”

I paused for a moment, hating the wave of guilt that swept through me. But then I remembered Jessica’s face in Trig, and my mouth drew into a hard line again. 

From the corner of my eye, I saw Edward’s head suddenly tilt reflexively in my direction.

“Mike, I think you should tell her yes.” I said.

“Did you already ask someone?” Did Edward notice how Mike’s eyes flickered in his direction?

“No,” I assured him. “I’m not going to the dance at all.”

“Why not?” Mike demanded. His tone sparked some indignation in me.

“I’m going to Seattle that Saturday.” I said. I needed to get out of town anyway - it was suddenly the perfect time to go.

“Can’t you go some other weekend?”

“Nope, sorry. You shouldn’t make Jess wait any longer - it’s rude.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” He mumbled, and turned, dejected, to walk back to his seat. I closed my eyes and pressed my fingers to my temples, trying to push the guilt and sympathy out of my head. Mr Banner began talking. I sighed and opened my eyes.

And Edward was staring at me curiously, that same, familiar edge of frustration even more distinct now in his black eyes.

I stared back, surprised, expecting him to look quickly away. But instead he continued to study with probing intensity into my eyes. There was no question of me looking away. My hands started to shake.

“Mr Cullen?” the teacher called, seeking the answer to a question that I hadn’t heard, and evidently that Mr Banner though Edward hadn’t.

“The Krebs Cycle,” Edward answered, seeming reluctant as he turned to look at Mr Banner. I looked down at my book as soon as he looked away, trying to find my place in the lesson. Cowardly as ever, I shifted my hair over my right shoulder to hide my face. I couldn’t believe the rush of emotion pulsing through me - just because he’d happened to look at me for the first time in a few weeks. I couldn’t allow him to have this level of influence over me. It was pathetic. More than pathetic, it was unhealthy.

I tried very hard not to be aware of him for the rest of the hour, and, since that was impossible, at least not to let him know that I was aware of him. When the bell rang at last, I turned my back to him to gather my things, expecting him to leave immediately as usual.

“Bella?” His voice, hesitant, shouldn’t have been so familiar to me, as if I’d known the sound of it all my life, rather than just for a few short weeks.

I turned slowly, unwillingly. I didn’t want to feel what I knew I would feel when I looked at his too-perfect face. His expression was wary when I finally turned to him; deep in some kind of thought - unreadable.

He didn’t say anything.

“Hm? Are you speaking to me again?” I finally asked, an unintentional note of petulance in my voice.

His lips twitched, fighting a smile. “No, not really.”

I closed my eyes and inhaled slowly through my voice. He waited.

“Then what do you want, Edward?” I asked, keeping my eyes closed; it was easier to talk to him coherently that way.

“I’m sorry.” He sounded sincere. “I’m being very rude, I know. But it’s better this way, really.”

I opened my eyes. His face was very serious.

I don’t know what you mean,” I said, my voice guarded.

“I think it would be better if we were not friends,” He explained. “Trust me.”

My eyes narrowed. I had heard that one before.

“Well, it’s too bad you didn’t figure that out earlier.” I hissed through my teeth. “You could have saved yourself all this regret.”

“Regret?” The word, and my tone, obviously caught him off guard. “What would I regret?”

“For not just letting that stupid van squish me.”

He was astonished. He stared at me, his mouth hanging open. When he finally spoke, his voice was shaky. “You think I regret saving your life?”

“I know you do,” I snapped.

That seemed to shock him back to himself, and his mouth snapped closed. 

“You don’t know anything.” His voice was dejected.

I turned my head away from him, I couldn’t understand what he must really be thinking. All of the wild accusations that had been building up over the last month, in the back of my head, and the questions I wanted to ask so desperately melted away when I saw the self-reproach in his expression. At some point in our ghost of a conversation everyone else had filed out, and I made to do so, too. I gathered my books together then stood and walked to the door. I meant to sweep dramatically out of the room, but of course I caught the toe of my boot on the door jamb and dropped my books. I hesitated a second, considering leaving them. Then I sighed and bent down to pick them up. He was already there; holding out my books, neatly stacked into a pile, his face drawn and serious.

“Thank you.”

His eyes narrowed. “You’re welcome.”

I swiftly turned away from him again, and stalked off to Gym without looking back.

Gym was brutal. We’d moved on to basketball. My team never passed me the ball, so that was good, but I fell down a lot. Sometimes I took people with me. Today was worse than usual because my head was so filled with Edward. Coach Clapp kept yelling at me to keep my feet moving, and as much as I tried to concentrate on placing one in front of the other, Edward just kept creeping back into my thoughts when I most needed my balance.

As always, it was a relief to finally get out of there - this time for more reason than one. I almost ran to my truck; there were just so many people I wanted to avoid. The truck had only suffered minimal damage in the accident. I had to replace the taillight, and there was a dent in the wheel well about the size of my head (I was grateful that it wasn’t actually caused by a head of any kind), but that was it. Tyler’s parents had to sell the van for scrap parts.

I almost had a stroke when I rounded a corner and saw a tall, dark figure leaning against the side of my truck. Then I realized it was just Eric. I started walking again.

“Hey, Eric.” I said, trying to smile.

“Hiya, Bella.”

“What’s up?” I asked, as I was unlocking the door. I wasn’t paying attention to the uncomfortable edge in his voice, so his next words took me by surprise.

“Uh, I was just wondering… if you would go to the spring dance with me?” His voice broke on the last word.

“I thought that I was girls’ choice,” I started, too startled to be diplomatic.

“Well, yeah…” he admitted, shamefaced.

I recovered my composure and tried to make my smile warm. “Thank you for asking me, but I’m going to be in Seattle that day.”

“Oh,” he said. “Well, maybe next time.”

“Sure,” I agreed, and then bit my lip. I wouldn’t want him to take that too literally. “Assuming I learn some hand-eye coordination before then.”

I jumped into my seat and leaned around the open door. “Trust me, me and dancing, we don’t really mix.”

We exchanged strained, awkward smiles and then he slouched off, back towards the school. I heard a low chuckle.

Edward was walking past the front of my truck, looking straight forward, his lips pressed together seriously, despite the dimples visible on his cheeks.

I glared at him and slammed the door shut. I revved the engine deafeningly and reversed out into the aisle. Edward was suddenly at his car, two spaces down, slidely smoothly out in front of me, cutting me off. He stopped there - to wait for his family; I could see Alice and Jasper in the corner of the parking lot, in their own world, him laughing gingerly at whatever she was saying, but Rosalie and Elenor were nowhere to be seen. I briefly considered taking out the rear of his shiny Volvo, but there were too many witnesses. Then again, that fact hadn’t stopped him. I looked in my rearview mirror. A line was beginning to form.

Directly behind me, Tyler Crowley was in his recently acquired and not-so-recently assembled (like I could talk) Sentra, waving. I was too aggravated to acknowledge him. I revved my engine again.

While I was sitting there, looking everywhere but the car in front of me, I heard a knock on my passenger side window. I looked over; it was Tyler. I glanced in my rearview mirror, confused. His car was still running, the door left open. I leaned across the cab to crank the window down. It was stiff. I got it halfway down, then gave up.

“I’m sorry, Tyler, I’m stuck behind Cullen.” I was annoyed - obviously the holdup wasn’t my fault.

“Oh, I know - I just wanted to ask you something while we’re trapped here.” He grinned.

For the love of God, this could not be happening again. 

“Will you ask me to the spring dance?” he continued.

“I’m not going to be in town, Tyler.” My voice sounded a little sharp. I had to remember it wasn’t his fault that Mike and Eric, and the idiot in front of me, had already used up my quota of patiences for the day.

“Yeah, Mike said that,” he admitted.

I idly wondered what I would have to do to prove my blandness enough to overpower the ‘new girl’ status.

“Then why -”

He shrugged. “I was hoping you were just letting him down easy.”

Okay, it was completely his fault.

“Sorry, Tyler,” I said, working to hide my irritation.” I really am going out of town.”

“That’s cool. We still have prom.”

And, before I could respond, he was walking back to his car. I could feel the shock on my face. I looked forward to seeing Rosalie, Alice and Elenor sliding into the backseat, and Jasper claiming the front. In his rearview mirror, Edward’s eyes were on me. He was unquestionably shaking with laughter, as if he had heard every word Tyler had said. My foot inched toward the gas pedal… one little bump wouldn’t hurt any of them, just that glossy silver paint job. I revved the engine.

But they were all in, and Edward was speeding away. I drove home slowly, carefully, muttering to myself the whole way.

When I got home, I decided to make chicken enchiladas for dinner. It was a long process, and it would keep me busy. While I was simmering the onions and chilies, the phone rang. I was almost afraid to answer it, but it might be Charlie or my mom.

It was Jessica, and she was jubilant; Mike had caught her after school to accept her invitation. I celebrated with her briefly while I stirred. She had to go, she wanted to call Angela and Lauren to tell them. I suggested - with casual innocence - that maybe Angela, the shy girl who had Biology with me, could ask Eric. And Lauren, a standoffish girl who always ignored me at the lunch table, could ask Tyler; I’d heard he was still available. Jess thought that was a great idea. Now that she was sure of Mike, she sounded sincere when she said she wished I would go to the dance. I wanted to say yes for the sake of her, and Angela, but I just gave her the Seattle excuse, not wanting to ruin her chances with the golden retriever.

After I hung up, I tried to concentrate on dinner - dicing the chicken especially; I didn’t want another trip to the emergency room. But my head was spinning, trying to analyse every word Edward had spoken today. What did he mean, it was better if we weren’t friends?

My stomach twisted as I realized what he must have meant. He must see how absorbed I was by him; he must not want to lead me on… so we couldn’t even be friends… because he wasn’t interested in me at all. Of course he wasn’t interested in me, I thought angrily, my eyes stinging - a delayed reaction to the onions I told myself. I wasn’t interesting. And he was. Interesting… and brilliant… and mysterious… and beautiful.. And possibly able to lift full-sized vans with one hand, in an adrenaline rush.

Well, that was fine. I could leave him alone. I would leave him alone. I would get through my self-imposed sentence here in purgatory, and then hopefully some school in the Southwest, possibly Hawaii, would offer me a scholarship. I focused my thoughts on sunny beaches and palm trees as I finished the enchiladas and put them in the oven.

Charlie seemed suspicious when he came home and smelled the green peppers. I couldn’t blame him - the closest edible Mexican food was probably in southern California. But he was a cop, even if just a small-town cop, so he was brave enough to take the first bite. He seemed to like it. I was fun to watch as he slowly began trusting me in the kitchen.

“Bella?”

“Yeah, Dad?”

“You’re gonna have to teach me how to cook the non-fish stuff. If anyone with your mother’s chef-ing genes can make this, I bet I could too.”

I smiled, a wide and genuine - the only real smile all day. “Sure thing.”

I waited until we were both nearly done eating before I told him.

“I was thinking about going to Seattle for the day a week from Saturday, if that’s okay?” I didn’t want to ask permission; but I felt rude, so I tacked it on the end.

“Oh, Why?” He sounded surprised.

“Well, I wanted to get a few books - the library here is a bit limited - and maybe look at some clothes.” I had more money than I was used to, thanks to Charlie. Not that the truck didn’t cost me quite a bit in the gas department.

“That truck probably doesn’t get very good gas mileage.” He said, echoing my thoughts.   
“I know, I’ll stop in Montesano and Olympia - and Tacoma if I have to.”

“Are you going all by yourself?” He asked, and I couldn’t tell if he was suspicious I had a secret boyfriend, or was just worried about the inevitable car trouble.

‘Yeah.”

“Seattle is a big city - you could get lost,” he fretted.

That made me smile again, though a small one, as I explained, “Dad, Phoenix is five times the size of Seattle - and I can read a map, don’t worry.”

“Do you want me to come with you?”

“That’s alright, Dad. I’ll probably just be in dressing rooms all day - very boring.”

“Oh, okay.” The thought of sitting around in clothing stores for any period of time immediately put him off.

“Thanks.”

“Will you be back in time for the dance?”

Grr. Only in a town this small would a father know when the high school dances were.

“No - I don’t dance, Dad.” 

“Well, you can barely walk, so maybe that’s for the best.”

I smiled again at that, as he cleared the table, and started the hot water for the dishes. I had just placed my foot on the first step when he suddenly called my name.

“Bells?”

“Hmm?” I turned to look at him.

“If you change your mind, and want some company in Seattle, just let me know.” He said, without turning his head away from the task at hand.

My chest was suddenly stuffed full of cotton. “Sure thing, Dad.”

-

The next morning, when I pulled into the parking lot, I deliberately parked as far as possible from the silver Volvo. I didn’t want to put myself in the path of too much temptation and end up owing him a new rear bumper. Getting out of the cab, I fumbled with my key and it fell towards the puddle at my feet. As I lent down to catch it, a white hand flashed and grabbed just before it hit the ground. And then my head collided with that of its owner. I jerked upright immediately. Edward Cullen was standing right in front of me, his teeth between his tongue as he tried not to laugh. His hand stretched out towards me, almost absentmindedly, as if to touch my now-tender forehead, before jerking back down to his side. 

“Are you okay, Bella?” His dimples flashed, I’m assuming at my absolute destruction of his ever-so suave opening.

“Yeah, I’ve had worse. In this parking lot, no less.”

His eyes darted away and his smile turned awkward. I searched immediately for a new topic.

“How do you do that?”

“Do what?” He seemed to have caught on, holding my key out as he spoke. As I reached for it, he dropped it into my palm.

“Appear out of thin air.”

“Bella, it’s not my fault if you are exceptionally unobservant.” His voice was quiet as usual - velvety and muted.

I scowled at his perfect face. His eyes were light again today, a deep, golden honey color. Then I had to look down at the puddle, to reassemble my now-tangled thoughts.

“Why the traffic jam last night?” I demanded, still looking away. “I thought you were supposed to be pretending I don’t exist, not irritating me to death.”

“That was for Tyler’s sake, not mine. I had to give him his chance.” He snickered.   
“You…” I gasped. I couldn’t think of a bad enough word. It felt like the heat of my anger should physically burn him, but he only seemed more amused.

“And I’m not pretending you don’t exist,” he continued.

“So you are trying to irritate me to death, then? Since Tyler’s van didn’t do the job?” I glared at him, wishing that I should just stare through him, that he would just disappear and stop haunting my every thought.

He merely stared back, a sad expression dusting his face.

As we stared at each other, his lip pressed into a hard line, all signs of humor gone.

“Bella, you are utterly absurd.” He uttered, his voice low.

I spun on my heel and started to walk away rather than live in the world where we pretend that nothing ever happened.

“Wait!” He called. I kept walking, sloshing angrily through the rain. But he was next to me, easily keeping pace.

“I’m sorry, that was rude,” he said, as we walked. I ignored him. “I’m not saying it isn’t true,” my jaw twitched, “but it was rude to say it, anyway.”

“Why won’t you leave me alone?” I grumbled.

“I wanted to ask you something, but you sidetracked me,” he chuckled. He seemed to have recovered his good humour.

“Do you have multiple personality disorder?” I asked severely.

“You’re doing it again.”   
I sighed. “Fine then. What do you want to ask?”

“I was wondering if, a week from Saturday - you know, the day of the spring dance -”

“Are you trying to be funny?” I interrupted him, wheeling to face him. My face got drenched as I looked up into his eyes, which were wickedly amused.

“Yes. Now will you please allow me to finish?”

I bit my lip, and clasped my hands together, interlocking my fingers, so I could do anything rash.

“I heard you say you were going to Seattle that day, and I was wondering if you wanted a ride.”

That was unexpected.

“What?”

“Do you want a ride to Seattle?”

“With who?” I asked, mystified.

“Myself, obviously.” He enunciated every syllable, as if he were talking to someone mentally handicapped.

I was still stunned. “Why?”

“Well, I was planning to go to Seattle in the next few weeks, and, to be honest, I’m not sure if your truck can make it.”

“My truck works just fine, thank you very much for your concern.” I hoped that my voice had some venom to it, rather than showcasing my shock.

“But can your truck make it there on one tank of gas?” He matched my pace again.

“I don’t see how that is any of your business.” I started to walk again. Stupid, shiny Volvo owner.

He matched my pace again. “The wasting of finite resources if everyone’s business.”

“Honestly, Edward.” I felt a thrill go through me as I said his name, and I hated it. “I can’t keep up with you. I thought you didn’t want to be my friend.”

“I said it would be better if we weren’t friends, not that I didn’t want to be.”

“Oh, thanks, now that’s all cleared up.” Heavy sarcasm. I realized I had stopped walking again. We were under the shelter of the cafeteria roof now, so I could look more easily at his face. Which certainly didn’t help my clarity of thought.

“It would be more… prudent for you not to be my friend,” he explained. “But I’m tired of trying to stay away from you, Bella.”

His eyes were gloriously intense as he uttered that last sentence, his voice smoldering. I couldn’t remember how to breathe.

“Will you go to Seattle with me?” he asked, still intense.

I couldn’t speak yet, so I just nodded.

His face cracked in half with a smile so wide that I could barely see his eyes, then his face became serious again.   
“You really should stay away from me,” he warned. “I’ll see you in class.”

Almost too fast for me to follow, he reached out and fixed my hood, which had fallen whilst I gazed up at him, and then turned abruptly, and walked back the way we’d come. 


	5. 5. Blood Type

I made my way to English in a daze. He fixed up my hood for me, what just does that? I didn’t even realize at first that the class had already started until Mr Mason turned to me disparaging.  
“Thank you for joining us, Miss Swan,” he drawled. I flushed and hurried to my seat, smiling at my shoes despite myself.  
As I rushed to my normal seat, I saw that Mike was nowhere to be seen, and I looked around, taken aback, sure that I had seen his car in the lot this morning before I got caught up in my Edward daze. I glanced around, finding him across the room, next to Eric. He was staring at me with a disgruntled expression that suggested to me he had caught at least part of mine and Edward’s conversation. Fine. If he wanted to be like that.  
“Ms Swan?” Mr Mason, again. I rushed to the next available seat I saw, next to Angela. She smiled at me over the rim of her glasses, and made room on the table.  
Mike and Eric met the two of us at the door, as usual, so I figured I wasn’t totally unforgiven, even if he wasn’t forgiven either.  
Mike seemed to become more himself as we walked, gaining enthusiasm as he talked about the weather report for the weekend. The rain was supposed to take a minor break, so his beach trip would be possible. I tried to sound eager, to make up for disappointing him yesterday. It was hard; rain or no rain, it would still only be in the high forties, if we were lucky.  
The rest of the morning passed in a blur. It was difficult to believe that I hadn’t just imagined what Edward had said, and the way his eyes had looked. Maybe it was just a very convincing dream that I’d confused with reality. That seemed more probable than that I really appealed to him on any level.  
So I was impatient and frightened as Jessica and I entered the Cafeteria after Spanish. I wanted to see his face, to see if he’d gone back to the cold indifferent person I’d known for the last several weeks. Or if, by some miracle, I’d really heard what I thought I’d heard this morning. Jessica babbled on and on about her dance plans - Lauren and Angela had asked the other boys and they were all going together - and, as I searched for Edward, it somehow became easier to dodge her requests for me to join.  
Disappointment flooded through me when my eyes unerringly focused on the Cullen’s table. The other four were there talking, but he was absent. Had he gone home? I followed the still-excited Jessica through the line, crushed. I’d lost my appetite - I brought nothing but a bottle of lemonade. I just wanted to still and sulk, and contemplate in the stability of my mental recall.  
“Edward Cullen is staring at you again,” Jessica said, finally breaking through my brooding with his name. “I wonder why he’s sitting alone today.”  
My head snapped up. I followed her gaze to see Edward, smiling crookedly, at an empty table across the cafeteria from where he usually sat. Once he’d caught my eye, he raised one hand, and waved, motioning for me to join him. As I stared at him in disbelief, he winked.  
“Does he mean you?” Jessica whispered, a suggestive tone to her voice and 

So I was impatient and frightened as Jessica and I entered the cafeteria. I wanted to see his face, to see if he'd gone back to the cold, indifferent person I'd known for the last several weeks. Or if, by some miracle, I'd really heard what I thought I'd heard this morning. Jessica babbled on and on about her dance plans — Lauren and Angela had asked the other boys and they were all going together — completely unaware of my inattention.  
Disappointment flooded through me as my eyes unerringly focused on his table. The other four were there, but he was absent. Had he gone home? I followed the still-babbling Jessica through the line, crushed.  
I'd lost my appetite — I bought nothing but a bottle of lemonade. I just wanted to go sit down  
and sulk.  
"Edward Cullen is staring at you again," Jessica said, finally breaking through brooding with his name. “I wonder why he’s sitting alone today.”  
My head snapped up. I followed her gaze to see Edward, smiling crookedly, staring at me from an empty table across the cafeteria from where he usually sat. Once he’d caught my eye, he raised one hand, and motion with his index finger for me to join him. As I stared in disbelief, he winked.  
“Does he mean you?” Jessica whispered, nudging me with her elbow and wiggling her eyebrows suggestively.  
I flushed bright red, and Edward looked away, with a hint of his grin growing.  
I tried not to imagine the way his nose scrunched when he grinned, as I pinched her arm in response.  
“Maybe he needs help with his Biology homework,” I muttered, scoldingly. “Um, I’d better go see what he wants.”  
I could feel her staring after me as I walked away, swinging my lemonade all the way over.  
When I reached his table, I stood behind the chair across from him, unsure.  
“Why don’t you sit with me today?” He asked, his eyes soft.  
I drew the chair out, and sat down slowly, watching him with caution. He was still smiling. It was hard to believe that someone so beautiful could be real. I was afraid that he might disappear in a sudden puff of smoke, and I would wake up.  
He seemed to be waiting for me to say something.  
“This is different,” I finally managed.  
“Well…” he paused, and cast his eyes to the table, and then the rest of the words followed in a near jumble, “I decided as long as I’m going to hell, I might as well do it thoroughly.”  
I waited for him to say something that made sense. The seconds ticked by. I opened my mouth and -  
“And without being so draconian with you. You don’t deserve it.”  
My mouth stayed open. I had to be dreaming.  
“You know that I don’t have any idea what you mean,” I finally managed.  
“I know, but when do you ever?” He smiled again, and then he changed the subject. “I think your friends are angry with me for stealing you.”  
“They’ll survive.” I could feel their stares boring into my back.  
“I may not give you back, though,” he said with a wicked glint in his eyes.  
I gulped.  
He laughed, “You look worried.”  
"No," I said, but, ridiculously, my voice broke. "Surprised, actually… what brought all this on?"  
"I told you — I got tired of trying to stay away from you. So I'm giving up." He was still smiling, but his ocher eyes were serious.  
"Giving up?" I repeated in confusion.  
"Yes — giving up trying to be good. I'm just going to do what I want now, and let the chips fall where they may." His smile faded as he explained, and a hard edge crept into his voice.  
"You lost me again."  
The breathtaking crooked smile reappeared.  
"I always say too much when I'm talking to you — that's one of the problems."  
"Don't worry — I don't understand any of it," I said wryly.  
"And I'm counting on that."  
"So, in plain English, are we friends now?"  
"Friends…" he mused, dubious.  
“Or are you just acting as a barrier between me and my own clumsiness?”  
He laughed at that one, really laughed, and it sounded like music. "I think I was more the perpetrator than an aid this morning.” That made me laugh, too. “But, we can try and be friends, I suppose. But I'm warning you now that I'm not a good friend for you."  
Behind his smile, the warning was real.  
"You say that a lot," I noted, but something in the back of my mind whispered that his particular brand of danger was perfect for me.  
"Yes, because you're not listening to me. I'm still waiting for you to believe it. If you're smart, you'll avoid me."  
"I think you've made your opinion on the subject of my intellect clear, too." My eyes narrowed.  
He smiled apologetically, “Though, I might admit you are fizzing at Biology.”  
“So, as long as I’m being… not smart, we’ll try to be friends?” I struggled to sum up the confusing exchange, and his confusing choice of words.  
“That sounds about right.”  
I looked down at my hands, wrapped around the lemonade bottle, not sure what to do now.  
“What are you thinking?” he asked, curiously.  
I looked up into his deep gold eyes, became befuddled, and, as usual, blurted out the truth.  
"I'm trying to figure out what you are."  
His jaw tightened, but he kept his smile in place with some effort.  
"Are you having any luck with that?" he asked in an offhand tone.  
"Not too much," I admitted.  
He chuckled. "What are your theories?"  
I blushed. I had been vacillating during the last month between Bruce Wayne and Peter Parker. There was no way I was going to own up to that.  
"Won't you tell me?" he asked, tilting his head to one side with a shockingly tempting smile.  
I shook my head. "Too embarrassing."  
"That's really frustrating, you know," he complained.  
"No," I disagreed quickly, my eyes narrowing, "I can't imagine why that would be frustrating at all — just because someone refuses to tell you what they're thinking, even if all the while they're making cryptic little remarks specifically designed to keep you up at night wondering what they could possibly mean… Now, why would that be frustrating?"  
He grimaced.  
"Or better," I continued, the pent-up annoyance flowing freely now, "say that person also did a wide range of bizarre things — from saving your life under impossible circumstances one day to treating you like a pariah the next, and he never explained any of that, either, even after he promised. That, also, would be very non-frustrating."  
"You've got a bit of a temper, don't you?" His cheeks inched upwards again.  
"I don't like double standards."  
“Good. You shouldn’t.” His cheeks kept inching up, his dimples on the risk of appearing, when he glanced over my shoulder, and then, unexpectedly, he snickered.  
"What?"  
"Your boyfriend seems to think I'm being unpleasant to you — he's debating whether or not to come break up our fight." He snickered again.  
"I don't know who you're talking about," I said frostily. "But I'm sure you're wrong, anyway."  
"I'm not. I told you, most people are easy to read."  
"Except me, of course."  
"Yes. Except for you." His mood shifted suddenly; his eyes turned brooding. "I wonder why that is."  
I had to look away from the intensity of his stare. I concentrated on unscrewing the lid of my lemonade. It fizzed and overflowed, spilling onto the table.  
We both laughed, and Edward lent down to pull something out of his backpack.  
“Aren’t you hungry?” he asked, tossing a travel packet of tissues onto the table.  
“No.” I didn’t feel like mentioning that my stomach was already full — of butterflies. "You?" I tried to focus on cleaning up the spill.  
"No, I'm not hungry." I didn't understand his expression — it looked like he was enjoying some private joke.  
"Can you do me a favor?" I asked after a second of hesitation.  
He was suddenly wary. "That depends on what you want."  
"It's not much," I assured him.  
He waited, guarded but curious.  
"I just wondered… if you could warn me beforehand the next time you decide to ignore me for my own good. Just so I'm prepared." I looked at the lemonade bottle as I spoke, tracing the circle of the opening with my pinkie finger.  
"That sounds fair." He was pressing his lips together to keep from laughing when I looked up.  
"Thanks."  
"Then can I have one answer in return?" he demanded.  
"One."  
"Tell me one theory."  
"No.”  
"You didn't specify what the favour had to be! You just promised one answer," he reminded me.  
"And you've broken promises yourself," I reminded him back.  
"Just one theory — I won't laugh."  
"Again, broken promises."  
He looked down, and then glanced up at me through his long black lashes, his ocher eyes scorching.  
"Please?" he breathed, leaning toward me.  
I blinked, my mind going blank. Holy crow, how did he do that?  
"Er, what?" I asked, dazed.  
"Please tell me just one little theory." His eyes still smoldered at me.  
"Um, well, bitten by a radioactive spider?" Was he a hypnotist, too? Or was I just a hopeless pushover?  
"That's not very creative," he scoffed.  
"I'm sorry, that's all I've got," I said, miffed.  
“Well I guess maybe that’s kind of close.” he teased.  
"No spiders?"  
"Nope."  
"And no radioactivity?"  
"None."  
"Dang," I sighed.  
"Kryptonite doesn't bother me, either," he chuckled.  
"You're not supposed to laugh, remember?"  
He struggled to compose his face.  
"I'll figure it out eventually," I warned him.  
"I wish you wouldn't try." He was serious again.  
"Because… ?"  
"What if I'm not a superhero? What if I'm the bad guy?" He smiled playfully, but his eyes were impenetrable.  
"Oh," I said, as several things he'd hinted fell suddenly into place. So I got one word in my pitiful guess correct. "I see."  
"Do you?" His face was abruptly severe, as if he were afraid that he'd accidentally said too much.  
"You're dangerous?" I guessed, my pulse quickening as I intuitively realized the truth of my own words.  
He was dangerous. He'd been trying to tell me that all along.  
He just looked at me, eyes full of some emotion I couldn't comprehend.  
"But not bad," I whispered, shaking my head. "No, I don't believe that you're bad."  
"You're wrong." His voice was almost inaudible. He looked down, stealing my bottle lid and twirling it like a spintop on the table. I stared at him, wondering why I didn't feel afraid. He meant what he was saying — that was obvious. But I just felt anxious, on edge… and, more than anything else, fascinated. The same way I always felt when I was near him.  
The silence lasted until I noticed that the cafeteria was almost empty.  
I jumped to my feet. "We're going to be late."  
"I'm not going to class today," he said, spinning the lid so fast it was just a blur.  
"Why not?"  
"It's healthy to ditch class now and then." He smiled up at me, but his eyes were still troubled.  
"Well, I'm going," I told him. I was far too big a coward to risk getting caught.  
He turned his attention back to his makeshift top. "I'll see you later, then."  
I hesitated, torn, but then the first bell sent me hurrying out the door — with a last glance confirming that he hadn't moved a centimeter.  
As I half-ran to class, my head was spinning faster than the bottle cap. So few questions had been answered in comparison to how many new questions had been raised. At least the rain had stopped.  
I was lucky; Mr. Banner wasn't in the room yet when I arrived. I settled quickly into my seat, aware that both Mike and Angela were staring at me. Mike looked resentful; Angela looked excited, and like she wanted to gush about it with me later.

Mr. Banner came into the room, then called the class to order. He was juggling a few small cardboard boxes in his arms. He put them down on Mike's table, telling him to start passing them around the class.  
"Okay, guys, I want you all to take one piece from each box," he said as he produced a pair of rubber gloves from the pocket of his lab jacket and pulled them on. The sharp sound as the gloves snapped into place against his wrists seemed ominous to me.  
"The first should be an indicator card," he went on, grabbing a white card with four squares marked on it and displaying it. "The second is a four-pronged applicator —" he held up something that looked like a nearly toothless hair pick "— and the third is a sterile micro-lancet." He held up a small piece of blue plastic and split it open. The barb was invisible from this distance, but my stomach flipped.  
"I'll be coming around with a dropper of water to prepare your cards, so please don't start until I get to you." He began at Mike's table again, carefully putting one drop of water in each of the four squares.  
"Then I want you to carefully prick your finger with the lancet…" He grabbed Mike's hand and jabbed the spike into the tip of Mike's middle finger. Oh no. Clammy moisture broke out across my forehead.  
"Put a small drop of blood on each of the prongs." He demonstrated, squeezing Mike's finger till the blood flowed. I swallowed convulsively, my stomach heaving.  
"And then apply it to the card," he finished, holding up the dripping red card for us to see. I closed my eyes, trying to hear through the ringing in my ears.  
"The Red Cross is having a blood drive in Port Angeles next weekend, so I thought you should all know your blood type." He sounded proud of himself. "Those of you who aren't eighteen yet will need a parent's permission — I have slips at my desk."  
He continued through the room with his water drops. I put my cheek against the cool black tabletop and tried to hold on to my consciousness. All around me I could hear squeals, complaints, and giggles as my classmates skewered their fingers. I breathed slowly in and out through my mouth.  
"Bella, are you all right?" Mr. Banner asked. His voice was close to my head, and it sounded alarmed.  
"I already know my blood type, Mr. Banner," I said in a weak voice. I was afraid to raise my head.  
"Are you feeling faint?"  
"Yes, sir," I muttered, internally kicking myself for not ditching when I had the chance.  
"Can someone take Bella to the nurse, please?" he called.  
I didn't have to look up to know that it would be Mike who volunteered.  
"Can you walk?" Mr. Banner asked.  
"Yes," I whispered. Just let me get out of here, I thought. I'll crawl.  
Mike seemed eager as he put his arm around my waist and pulled my arm over his shoulder. I leaned against him heavily on the way out of the classroom.  
Mike towed me slowly across campus. When we were around the edge of the cafeteria, out of sight of building four in case Mr. Banner was watching, I stopped.  
"Just let me sit for a minute, please?" I begged.  
He helped me sit on the edge of the concrete.  
"And whatever you do, keep your hand in your pocket," I warned. I was still so dizzy. I slumped over on my side, putting my cheek against the freezing, damp cement of the sidewalk, closing my eyes.  
That seemed to help a little.  
"Wow, you're green, Bella," Mike said nervously.  
"Bella?" a different voice called from the distance.  
No! Please let me be imagining that horribly familiar voice. I rolled into my back and played dead.  
"What's wrong — is she hurt?" His voice was closer now, and he sounded worried. I wasn't imagining it. I squeezed my eyes shut, hoping to die. Or, at the very least, not to throw up.  
Mike seemed stressed. "I think she's fainted. I don't know what happened, she didn't even stick her finger."  
"Bella." Edward's voice was right beside me, relieved now. "Can you hear me?"  
"No," I groaned. "Go away."  
He giggled. Actually giggled, like a young child.  
"I was taking her to the nurse," Mike explained in a defensive tone, "but she wouldn't go any farther."  
"I'll take her," Edward said. I could hear the smile still in his voice. "You can go back to class."  
"No," Mike protested. "I'm supposed to do it."  
Suddenly the sidewalk disappeared from beneath me. My eyes flew open in shock. Edward had  
scooped me up in his arms, as easily as if I weighed ten pounds instead of a hundred and ten.  
"Put me down!" Please, please let me not vomit on him. He was walking before I was finished talking.  
"Hey!" Mike called, already ten paces behind us.  
Edward ignored him. "You look awful," he told me, grinning.  
"So will your shirt in a second, if you don’t put me back on the sidewalk," I moaned. The rocking movement of his walk was not helping. He held me away from his body, gingerly, supporting all my weight with just his arms — it didn't seem to bother him.  
"So you faint at the sight of blood?" he asked. This seemed to entertain him.  
I didn't answer. I closed my eyes again and fought the nausea with all my strength, clamping my lips together.  
"And not even your own blood," he continued, enjoying himself.  
I don't know how he opened the door while carrying me, but it was suddenly warm, so I knew we were inside.  
"Oh my," I heard a female voice gasp.  
"She fainted in Biology," Edward explained.  
I opened my eyes. I was in the office, and Edward was striding past the front counter toward the nurse's door. Ms. Cope, the redheaded front office receptionist, ran ahead of him to hold it open. The grandmotherly nurse looked up from a novel, astonished, as Edward swung me into the room and placed me gently on the crackly paper that covered the brown vinyl mattress on the one cot. Then he moved to stand against the wall as far across the narrow room as possible. His eyes were bright, excited.  
"She's just a little faint," he reassured the startled nurse. "They're blood typing in Biology."  
The nurse nodded sagely. "There's always one."  
He muffled another giggle.  
"Just lie down for a minute, honey; it'll pass."  
"I know," I sighed. The nausea was already fading.  
"Does this happen a lot?" she asked.  
"Sometimes," I admitted. Edward coughed to hide another laugh.  
"You can go back to class now," she told him.  
"I'm supposed to stay with her." He said this with such assured authority that — even though she pursed her lips — the nurse didn't argue it further.  
"I'll go get you some ice for your forehead, dear," she said to me, and then bustled out of the room.  
"You were right," I moaned, letting my eyes close.  
"I usually am — but about what in particular this time?"  
"Ditching is healthy." I practised breathing evenly.  
"You scared me for a minute there," he admitted after a pause. His tone was of deep concern, and it tugged at my gut that he cared that much.  
"I thought Newton was dragging your dead body off to bury it in the woods."  
"Ha ha." I still had my eyes closed, but I was feeling more normal every minute.  
"Honestly — I've seen corpses with better color. I was concerned that I might have to avenge your murder."  
"Poor Mike. I'll bet he's mad."  
"He absolutely loathes me," Edward said cheerfully.  
"You can't know that," I argued, but then I wondered suddenly if he could.  
"I saw his face — I could tell." He said quickly.  
"How did you see me? I thought you were ditching." I was almost fine now, though the queasiness would probably pass faster if I'd eaten something for lunch. On the other hand, maybe it was lucky my stomach was empty.  
"I was in my car, listening to music." Such a normal response — it surprised me.  
I heard the door and opened my eyes to see the nurse with a cold compress in her hand.  
"Here you go, dear." She laid it across my forehead. "You're looking better," she added.  
"I think I'm fine," I said, sitting up. Just a little ringing in my ears, no spinning. The mint green walls stayed where they should.  
I could see she was about to make me lie back down, but the door opened just then, and Ms Cope stuck her head in.  
"We've got another one," she warned.  
I hopped down to free up the cot for the next invalid.  
I handed the compress back to the nurse. "Here, I don't need this."  
And then Mike staggered through the door, now supporting a sallow-looking Lee Stephens, another boy in our Biology class. Edward and I drew back against the wall to give them room.  
"Oh no," Edward muttered. "Go out to the office, Bella."  
I looked up at him, bewildered to his urgency.  
"Trust me — go."  
I spun and caught the door before it closed, darting out of the infirmary. I could feel Edward right behind me.  
"You actually listened to me." He was stunned.  
"I smelled the blood," I said, wrinkling my nose. Lee wasn't sick from watching other people, like me.  
"People can't smell blood," he contradicted.  
"Well, I can — that's what makes me sick. It smells like rust… and salt, and kind of like a burnt match."  
He was staring at me with an unfathomable expression.  
"What?" I asked.  
"It's nothing."  
Mike came through the door then, glancing from me to Edward. The look he gave Edward confirmed what Edward had said about loathing. He looked back at me, his eyes glum.  
"You look better," he accused.  
"Just keep your hand in your pocket," I warned him again.  
"It's not bleeding anymore," he muttered. "Are you going back to class?"  
"Are you kidding? I'd just have to turn around and come back."  
"Yeah, I guess… So are you going this weekend? To the beach?" While he spoke, he flashed another glare toward Edward, who was standing against the cluttered counter, motionless as a sculpture, staring off into space.  
I tried to sound as friendly as possible. "Sure, I said I was in."  
"We're meeting at my dad's store, at ten." His eyes flickered to Edward again, wondering if he was giving out too much information. His body language made it clear that it wasn't an open invitation.  
"I'll be there," I promised.  
"I'll see you in Gym, then," he said, moving uncertainly toward the door.  
"See you," I replied. He looked at me once more, his round face slightly pouting, and then as he walked slowly through the door, his shoulders slumped. A swell of sympathy washed over me. I pondered seeing his disappointed face again… in Gym.  
"Gym," I groaned.  
"I can take care of that." I hadn't noticed Edward moving to my side, but he spoke now in my ear. "Go sit down and look pale," he muttered.  
That wasn't a challenge; I was always pale, and my recent swoon had left a light sheen of sweat on my face. I sat in one of the creaky folding chairs and rested my head against the wall with my eyes closed.  
Fainting spells always exhausted me.  
I heard Edward speaking softly at the counter.  
"Ms. Cope?"  
"Yes?" I hadn't heard her return to her desk.  
"Bella has Gym next hour, and I don't think she feels well enough. Actually, I was thinking I should take her home now. Do you think you could excuse her from class?" His voice was like melting honey. I could imagine how much more overwhelming his eyes would be.  
"Do you need to be excused, too, Edward?" Ms. Cope fluttered. Why couldn't I do that?  
"No, I have Mrs. Goff, she won't mind."  
"Okay, it's all taken care of. You feel better, Bella," she called to me. I nodded weakly, hamming it up just a bit.  
"Can you walk, or do you want me to carry you again?" With his back to the receptionist, his expression became sarcastic.  
I seriously considered the offer for a moment, but decided that it would be just a smidge pathetic if I actually accepted the chance for contact.  
"I'll walk."  
I stood carefully, and I was still fine. He held the door for me, his smile polite but his eyes mocking. I walked out into the cold, fine mist that had just begun to fall. It felt nice — the first time I'd enjoyed the constant moisture falling out of the sky — as it washed my face clean of the sticky perspiration.  
"Thanks," I said as he followed me out. "It's almost worth getting sick to miss Gym."  
"Anytime." He was staring straight forward, squinting into the rain.  
"So are you going? This Saturday, I mean?" I was hoping he would, though it seemed unlikely. I couldn't picture him loading up to carpool with the rest of the kids from school; he didn't belong in the same world. But just hoping that he might give me the first twinge of enthusiasm I'd felt for the outing.  
"Where are you all going, exactly?" He was staring at me, the smile back on his face.  
"Down to La Push, to First Beach." He looked ahead again, and I took advantage of his distraction, studying his face, trying to read it. His eyes seemed to narrow infinitesimally.  
He glanced down at me from the corner of his eye, smiling wryly. "I really don't think I was invited."  
I sighed. "I just invited you."  
"Let's you and I not push poor Mike any further this week. We don't want him to snap." His eyes  
danced; he was enjoying the idea more than he should.  
"Mike-schmike." I muttered, preoccupied by the way he'd said "you and I." I liked it more than I should.  
“He’s on the make, you know. As fun as it would be to get in the way of that, and as sure as I am you’re worth the fight,” He continued. Even though his tone was genuine enough, I rolled my eyes rather than get my hopes up, “I’d rather not risk that excess of hair gel getting on my clothes.”  
I didn’t respond. We were near the parking lot now. I veered left, toward my truck. Something caught my jacket, yanking me back.  
"Where do you think you're going?" he asked. He was gripping a fistful of my jacket in one hand. I was confused. "I'm going home."  
"Didn't you hear me promise to take you safely home? Do you think I'm going to let you drive in your condition?" His voice was still indignant.  
"What condition? And what about my truck?" I complained.  
"I'll have Alice drop it off after school." He was towing me toward his car now, pulling me by my jacket. It was all I could do to keep from falling backward. He'd probably just drag me along anyway if I did.  
"Let go!" I insisted. He ignored me. I staggered along sideways across the wet sidewalk until we reached the Volvo. Then he finally freed me — I stumbled against the passenger door.  
"You are so pushy!" I grumbled.  
"It's open," was all he said. He got in the driver's side.  
"I am perfectly capable of driving myself home!" I stood by the car, fuming. It was raining harder now, and I'd never put my hood up, so my hair was dripping down my back.  
He lowered the automatic window and leaned toward me across the seat. "Get in, Bella."  
I didn't answer. I was mentally calculating my chances of reaching the truck before he could catch me. I had to admit, they really weren't good.  
"I'll just drag you back," he threatened, guessing my plan.  
I tried to maintain what dignity I could as I got into his car. I wasn't very successful — I looked like a half-drowned cat and my boots squeaked.  
"This is completely unnecessary," I said stiffly.  
He didn't answer. He fiddled with the controls, turning the heater up and the music down. As he pulled out of the parking lot, I was preparing to give him the silent treatment — my face in full pout mode — but then I recognized the music playing, and my curiosity got the better of my intentions.  
"Clair de Lune?" I asked, surprised.  
"You know Debussy?" He sounded surprised, too.  
"Not well," I admitted. "My mother plays a lot of classical music around the house — I only know my favorites."  
“He always was one of my favourites, too." He stared out through the rain, lost in thought.  
I listened to the music, relaxing against the light gray leather seat. It was impossible not to respond to the familiar, soothing melody. The rain blurred everything outside the window into gray and green smudges. I began to realize we were driving very fast; the car moved so steadily, so evenly, though, I didn't feel the speed. Only the town flashing by gave it away.  
"What is your mother like?" he asked me suddenly.  
I glanced over to see him studying me with curious eyes.  
"She looks a lot like me, but she's prettier," I said. He furrowed his eyebrows. "I have too much Charlie in me.” I explained quickly, though I wasn’t sure why I felt the need.  
“She's more outgoing than I am, and braver. She's irresponsible and slightly eccentric, and she's a very very bad cook. She's my best friend." I stopped. Talking about her was making me depressed.  
"How old are you, Bella?" His voice sounded frustrated for some reason I couldn't imagine. He'd stopped the car, and I realized we were at Charlie's house already. The rain was so heavy that I could barely see the house at all. It was like the car was submerged under a river.  
"I'm seventeen," I responded, a little confused.  
"You don't seem seventeen."  
His tone was reproachful; it made me laugh.  
"What?" he asked, curious again.  
"My mom always says I was born thirty-five years old and that I get more middle-aged every year." I laughed, and then sighed. "Well, someone had to be the adult." He cocked his head at that, and opened his mouth to speak, and I continued, suddenly desperate to change the subject.  
"You don't seem much like a junior in high school yourself,"  
He made a face, and changed the subject again.  
"So why did your mother marry Phil?"  
I was surprised he would remember the name; I'd mentioned it just once, almost two months ago. It took me a moment to answer.  
"My mother… she's very young for her age. I think Phil makes her feel even younger. At any rate, she's crazy about him." I shook my head. The attraction was a mystery to me.  
"Do you approve?" he asked.  
"Does it matter?" I countered. "I want her to be happy… and he is who she wants."  
“That’s very generous of you… isn’t the teenager supposed to hate their stepdad, and her mother is supposed to be the one with such a comic perspective on love?” He mused, “I wonder…”  
“What?”  
“Would she extend the same courtesy to you, do you think? No matter who your choice was?” He was suddenly intent, his eyes searching mine.  
“I - I think so,” I stuttered, though I truly felt I didn’t know, “But she’s the parent, after all. It’s a little bit different.” Supposed to be.  
The look in his eyes made me think that he could hear my thoughts, and there was a sadness in the slant of his mouth. It only lasted a second, and he closed his eyes, resting his head against the seat.  
"So, no one too scary, then," he teased.  
I grinned, "What do you mean by scary? Multiple facial piercings and extensive tattoos?"  
"That's one definition, I suppose."  
"What's your definition?"  
But he ignored my question and asked me another. "Do you think that I could be scary?" He raised one eyebrow, and the faint trace of a smile lightened his face, his eyes still closed.  
I thought for a moment, wondering whether the truth or a lie would go over better. I decided to go with the truth. "Hmmm… I think you could be, if you wanted to."  
"Are you frightened of me now?" The smile vanished, and his heavenly face was suddenly serious, and looking at me again.  
"No." But I answered too quickly. The smile returned, he seemed so peaceful.  
"So, now are you going to tell me about your family?" I asked to distract him. "It's got to be a much more interesting story than mine."  
He looked taken aback that I even asked, "What do you want to know?"  
"The Cullens adopted you?" I verified.  
"Yes."  
I hesitated for a moment. "What happened to your parents?"  
"They died many years ago." His tone was matter-of-fact.  
"I'm sorry," I mumbled.  
A breath. “It’s okay. I don’t even really remember them that clearly. Carlisle and Esme have been my parents for a long time now.”  
"And you love them." It wasn't a question. It was obvious in the way he spoke of them.  
"Yes." He smiled, "I couldn't imagine two better people."  
"You're very lucky."  
"I know I am."  
"And your sisters?"  
He glanced at the clock on the dashboard, abruptly, as though he had just remembered.  
"My sisters, and Jasper and Rosalie for that matter, are going to be quite upset if they have to stand in the rain waiting for me."  
"Oh, sorry, I guess you have to go." I didn't want to get out of the car.  
"Reluctantly. You probably want your truck back before Chief Swan gets home, so you don't have to tell him about the Biology incident." He grinned at me.  
"I'm sure he's already heard. There are no secrets in Forks." I sighed.  
He laughed, and there was an edge to his laughter.  
"Have fun at the beach… good weather for sunbathing." He glanced out at the sheeting rain.  
"Won't I see you tomorrow?"  
"No. Eleanor and I are starting the weekend early."  
"What are you going to do?" A friend could ask that, right? I hoped the disappointment wasn't too apparent in my voice.  
"We're going to be hiking in the Goat Rocks Wilderness, just south of Rainier."  
I remembered Charlie had said the Cullens went camping frequently.  
"Oh, well, have fun." I tried to sound enthusiastic. I don't think I fooled him, though. A smile was playing around the edges of his lips.  
"Will you do something for me this weekend?" He turned to look me straight in the face, utilizing the full power of his burning gold eyes.  
I nodded.  
"Don't be offended, but you seem to be one of those people who just attract accidents like a magnet. So… try not to fall into the ocean or get run over or anything, for me, all right?" He smiled his crooked smile.  
My face fell into a glare.  
"I'll see what I can do," I snapped as I jumped out into the rain. I slammed the door behind me with excessive force.  
He was still smiling as he drove away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that you all are wondering why Edward sometimes says weird things, like "on the make" and "fizzing", and that is because I have decided that Edward is a  
> 1\. A nerd who says lame things  
> 2\. is so out of touch with slang that he still uses sayings from his early life (i think the slang I used this chapter were the 20s and 30s respectively)  
> Also, if you guys were wondering why Edward kept closing his eyes in the car, I am extraordinarily in love with the idea that Edward loves sitting with Bella, away from other people, because it is only of the only times he can really truly get away from all the noise in his head and focus on something, and what better to lie there and focus on their your girlfriends voice, amighright fellow Sapphic people?


End file.
